


a shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn)

by nyxveuss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Regulus Black, Fluff and Angst, Gen, No beta we die like regulus, POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black-centric, Sirius Black is a Good Sibling, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, also i gave regulus actually good friends cause he needs them, at least he becomes one, basically regulus is sent back to fifth year lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxveuss/pseuds/nyxveuss
Summary: “Oh Merlin,” Regulus muttered, unable to maintain his usual blank expression. “I’m dead.”“Calm down, Black, you only fell off your broom.”orregulus black gets sent back to his fifth year, conflict ensues.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Comments: 356
Kudos: 1875





	1. i couldn't utter my love when it counted

The garbled voice of his brother somehow didn’t silence as Regulus was pulled under the surface, mouth gaping for one last lungful of air before it was snatched so violently from him. Hands, slimy and skeletal, clung at his cloak. Inferi scratched at his skin and tore at his flesh as the water numbed his body. The frigid lake buried deep into his bones, infecting his nerves with a paralytic frost.

And still, as the water raged above him in frenzied anger, Sirius’ voice sounded clearly in his head. It was the potion— or at least he thinks it was the potion. The cold had gotten to his head and it stung like ice.

“Calling for my help, little brother?”

The bitterness accompanying the pet name would have brought tears to Regulus’ eyes if he wasn’t already crying. Adrenaline rushed frantically through to his toes, heart stuttering with something akin to panic.

“That’s ironic, isn’t it? Last time I needed your help, you didn’t give one _bit_. You sided with _them_. You _betrayed_ me.”

And Sirius’ face flashed through his vision, as if taunting him with the possibility to see his brother again. To apologise for his faults.

“You remember how it went, Regulus? Remind me what happened.”

The youngest brother hated how his full name sounded on Sirius’ tongue. It should be _little brother_. It should be _Reg_ or _Reggie._

“Tell me!” His brother’s voice was angry. Furious, even.

 _There was a fight,_ he answered while recalling the painful memory. _There was a fight and father hit you_. _He beat you._

“And what did you do? _What did you do, Regulus?_ ”

He bit his tongue, numb to the nails drawing blood from his flesh and the pressure of undead bodies.

 _Nothing. I did nothing_.

“You did _nothing_!” Sirius shouted, bitterness rearing its ugly head. “You were my brother, and you did _nothing_! This is your fault, everything is always _your fault_. You killed _yourself_ , Regulus, and it will all be for nothing. Because you’re just a _child._ You didn’t think it through and now you’re going to die for nothing and nobody will _ever_ know what you did!”

 _Please forgive me,_ Regulus replied quietly, _for what I have done._

“I could _never_ forgive you, Regulus. You _betrayed_ me. This is all on you. You _deserved_ to have the Dark Mark forced upon you. You _deserved_ the burden. This is what you get, Regulus. For being a _bad brother_. You have to suffer with the consequences. It’s your job now, to follow mummy and daddy. You have to be the _good son_ now. You have to follow them and you can’t complain one bit because this is all on _you_.”

_It isn’t… it isn’t my fault. I did it for you—_

“For me? You’re so _selfish_ , Regulus, and you don’t even realise it.” Sirius’ voice became a whisper close to his ear. “I will never thank you for anything you’ve done. Because you’re not worthy of my gratitude. You’re just a pathetic little coward. I don’t have time for traitors like you.”

_Please, brother, don’t—_

“You’re not my brother.” The voice wasn’t angry, but amused. A chuff of laughter made Regulus’ stomach curl. “You were _never_ my brother. Never will be.”

Fate was a cruel and bitter friend.  
  


( _‘To the Dark Lord’_ )

( “—why don’t you run back to your muggle-lover boyfriend? I never _did_ want you around—” )

**( “Kreacher, you must listen to me—” )**

_( ‘I_ _know I will be dead long before you read this’ )_

( “Because you were their first-born, Sirius! It didn’t matter if you were a disgrace, it didn’t matter what I did to try and make them proud of me— they still wanted _you_!”

“Regulus—”

“ _They always wanted you_!” )

**( “Kreacher, you must listen to me—” )**

_( ‘But I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret’ )_

( “The Dark Lord will be pleased with your loyalty, Regulus. I always knew you would do the right thing eventually.” )

 **( “I need to finish it. Even if you have to force it down my throat—** **_I need to finish it_** **.” )**

_( ‘I have stolen the real horcrux’ )_

( “Brother? _Brother?_ You are no brother of mine! Not when you still believe what they say—” )

 **( “Swap them. And then you take it and you destroy it, Kreacher. You don’t tell the family, you hear me. Mother? Father?** **_You can’t tell them_** **. They’ll be in danger if you do.” )**

_( ‘And intend to destroy it as soon as I can’ )_

( “Your brother could have been successful, Regulus. Are you listening? If only he hadn’t run off to that _Potter_ boy. Then we’d have a son to be proud of. _Sirius Black_.” )

**( “Do anything you can to destroy it. Kreacher, you must listen to me—” )**

_( ‘I face death in the hope that when you meet your match’ )_

( “You destroyed whatever remains we had of _brotherhood_ when you were sorted into Slytherin with the rest of those _evil bastards—_ ” )

**( “—destroy it, Kreacher. Promise me—” )**

_( ‘You will be mortal once more.’ )_

( “Promise me, Sirius? Promise me you won’t leave me behind?” )

**( “—promise me—” )**

_( ‘— R.A.B’ )_

( “I promise, little brother.” )

Regulus’ eyes swum with phosphenes. They flickered across his vision like light through stained-glass windows, twinkling stars blanketing the night sky.

Everything bled a bright white. 

It was so bright that he had to squeeze his eyes shut again, before his headache worsened. There was a hammer pounding against his skull, pressure so tight in his temples that Regulus thought for a second that a giant was crushing his head in its big hand.

Memories sprung from the surface of his mind and the abrupt realisation of what had just occurred—

( “Promise me, Kreacher” — _hands pulling him down, down down —_ “you must listen to me” — _throat burning for water, for release_ — “destroy it” — _cold water numbing the frenzied panic_ )

—had him reeling forward, stomach emptying its contents onto the floor. There were ghosts on his skin. Skeletal fingers pushing into the dips of his spine and circling the bones of his wrists. As if the undead still had him in their grasps at the bottom of the lake—

“Merlin’s beard, Black. Give some warning, why don’t you?”

Regulus looked up so quickly he thought he might have gotten whiplash. The sun scorched over the House towers of the Quidditch pitch, forcing him to squint. There were three figures standing in front of him, two to his left and one kneeling to his side. The sun drew a silhouette of the figures’ bodies, along with the brooms—

“Am I dead?” Regulus spoke up before he even realised, eyes still trained on the _broomsticks_. He was in Hogwarts, on the Quidditch pitch. How—

“Calm down, Black, you only fell off your broom,” one of the figures — Valerio Dune, keeper on the Slytherin team — chuffed out. The others laughed along with him and Regulus’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Dune left in Regulus’ seventh year. He wasn’t even on the team in his last year so what was he doing—

“Wha— what date is it today?” Regulus questioned once he’d found his voice again. 

Emma Vanity — team captain _until 1977_ — frowned in concern. “You alright, Black? Seems you hit your head harder than we thought.”

“Um, no, I just— what—”

“Deep breaths. Maybe you should take a break.”

Regulus didn’t understand the concern. “No— what happened? How am I—”

“Burke sent a bludger right your way when you weren’t looking,” Ian Yaxley explained, elbowing said player in the ribs.

“I already _apologised_ , Yaxley. Lay off, why don’t you,” Sophie retorted. Sophie Burke— who, along with her family, were _killed_ in Regulus’ seventh year.

“Oh Merlin,” he muttered, unable to maintain his usual blank expression. “I’m dead.”

“What are you _on_ about, Black?” Yaxley questioned incredulously. “You’re not bloody _dead_. Flint, what’s he on about?”

Magnus Flint, who was crouched beside him, stared intensely at Regulus for a moment before shaking his head softly. “We should probably get you to the hospital wing before you pass out or something.” Regulus almost wanted to cry at the sight of his ex-best friend. He hadn’t seen him since his family went into hiding. He looked just as young as the last time he’d seen the boy; olive skin a little warmer and brown hair a little fluffier.

“No, I’m— I’m _fine_. Just… what day is it?” Regulus asked again, growing more desperate for an answer.

Magnus frowned in concern. “October 28th. Look, I’m going to take you to Madam Pomfrey—”

“The year, Magnus, the year,” the young Black interrupted, voice sharp in order to hide the desperation rising in his throat.

“You’ve been knocked crazy, Black,” Dune sneered.

“Bloody hell, you _definitely_ need to go to Madam Pomfrey. Flint, Sinclair, would you—”

Magnus and Dakota nodded as they helped him to his feet and began ushering him off the field. Regulus’ mind was still reeling from the idea of possibly _being in the past_ to brush them off.

Luckily they didn’t run into any Gryffindors on the way to the hospital wing (because that would _really_ be the end of him). His dignity wasn’t completely lost, at least. He barely registered Madam Pomfrey sitting him down in one of the hospital beds, a drink being raised to his mouth.

The feeling of liquid against his lips made him flinch (— _the potion, Kreacher having to force it down his throat, thick under his tongue, like slime—_ ) but Poppy didn’t seem to notice. Or at least didn’t care.

“It’s 1976,” Dakota offered, eyes blank. To anyone else she would seem disinterested, but Regulus could see the way her fingers twitched in worry. “Since you seemed so eager to know. October 28th, 1976. Look, did you forget because you got whacked in the head or—”

“Give him a second, ‘Kota,” Magnus cut her off calmly.

1976\. More than three years— he was more than three years _in the past_. He was _15_. Regulus didn’t quite understand how something so peculiar could occur. Time-magic had always been highly hypothetical, based on a few estimations and anecdotal experiences. Bad things happened to those who tampered with magic. What was to become of him because of this?

“Can I— can I stay here for the remainder of the day?” Regulus asked Madam Pomfrey. His mother would curse him for the stutter ( " _Blacks don’t stutter and hesitate, Regulus. Stop slouching! You get it from your brother. Too impressionable.”_ )

She raised her thin grey eyebrows. “Yes, well I would hope so! A bludger to the head? You seekers always seem to get into such trouble. Too distracted, I’d say.”

“I think that’s just Regulus himself, Ma’am,” Magnus said with a smirk.

He hadn’t seen Magnus or Dakota for at least a year. His closest friends in his school years, as much as he wouldn’t admit it at the time. 15-year-old Regulus Black was so consumed by trying to please his parents and gain the Dark Lord’s trust to notice who was ever there for him. He would mimic his other pure-blood supremacist friends such as Octavia Rosier and Cyrus Avery, and even half-blood Nathanial Pearce, in order to gain his parent’s approval. It was stupid, looking back, since Rosier, Pearce and Avery were all cowardly fools. They didn’t know anything of what they were getting themselves into. Neither did Regulus, in the end.

“You want us to stay with you, Regulus? Emma might hex us for skipping the rest of practice but I’m sure she’d understand,” Dakota offered.

“No, I’m good,” Regulus responded. “... Thank you, though."

A vague look of surprise flickered in Dakota’s eyes at the gratitude, but it went just as quickly as it came. She smiled tightly, tugging on Magnus’ arm before they both left.

“See you at supper!” Magnus called.

In the silence of the hospital wing, Regulus found a familiar sense of loneliness.

His hunt for the Dark Lord’s horcrux had resulted in a constant feeling of cold and bitter _emptiness_. Burying himself in the distractions of books and research and work had always come most easily to the second Black heir. The feeling of accomplishment and productivity that knowledge provided him was something that made Regulus question whether he was actually supposed to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

The small pride in educating himself helped fill the empty thoughts of _uselessness, a lost cause, never be worthy, not smart enough to find the horcrux_ that always seemed to plague his mind.

The reminder of the horcrux had Regulus scrambling for his pockets and neck. Had all that been for nothing, _had he died for nothing?_ But his panic subdued at the clinking of a light chain in his pocket. Checking to see if Madam Pomfrey was still present (which she wasn’t), he pulled the Slytherin Locket out. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Now that he wasn’t being torn apart by inferi, he could actually _see_ the damned thing. It was duller than he expected, although Regulus supposed that the Dark Lord wouldn’t exactly want it to read _‘WARNING: holds a piece of Voldemort’s soul’_. A large ‘S’ was inlaid with small, emerald gemstones that reflected in a way that was more unsettling than pretty. In his palm, it felt a stinging sort of cold and he tried not to think about how it was almost as icy as the water when he was drowning. The metal of the locket was plain, with a pale coat of rust turning it a murky bronze.

A sudden chill trailed down his spine at the realisation that he was holding a piece of the _Dark Lord’s soul_.

“I saw you got a nasty-looking bruise on your arm as well, Mr Black.”

Madam Pomfrey’s return had Regulus stuffing the locket back in his pocket, where it sat cold and heavy.

“Left arm, please,” she ordered simply, holding out her hand to see his arm.

But the reminder of the Dark Mark had Regulus hesitating. _She would freak if she saw it—_

“Oh, drop the tough boy act, Mr Black. You’ve been in here enough times,” Poppy scolded lightly, grabbing Regulus’ left arm.

Before he could stop, she lifted the sleeve and his eyes widened in anticipation of a gasp. But—

His dark brows furrowed. He was tired of being surprised, but running his eyes across the dull Dark Mark filled him with a sense of startled relief. Because the Dark Mark — if you could even call it that anymore — had paled to something akin to a birthmark or scar tissue. It blotched smoothly across his left forearm, a stark contrast to the mark he was once familiar with. 

He almost laughed at the sight.

He had a slight expectation for it to have disappeared completely, since he was now 15. He’d been marked the day following his 16th birthday. Although its continued existence — however faint — confirmed Regulus’ beliefs on how intertwined the Dark Mark was to the bearer’s magical core. For the Mark to stand the change in time, it would have had to be so strongly bound with his core that it was almost _a part_ of it. The idea made Regulus shiver.

“Hm,” Poppy hummed. “Some bruise-gel will do the job.”

Regulus didn’t have the heart to explain that it wasn’t a bruise but instead the ghost of the Dark Mark which had been intertwined with his soul on his next birthday. Yeah, try to explain _that_ one.

Madam Pomfrey had pretty much left him to rest after applying the bruise-gel. At least she would probably attribute the silence to his concussion instead of the overcrowding thoughts running around his head like a broken record player. It was difficult, but he spent most of the afternoon coming to terms with the fact that he had, in fact, travelled three years into the past.

There were so many factors he now had to think about. His father being alive. His upcoming OWL exams. Faking his pure-blood beliefs. The pressure of his parents. (Reconciling with his brother). He was thankful, at least, that at age 15 he hadn’t yet signed his life off to the Dark Lord. At least without the mark he had the option to simply ‘lose interest’. Lose his family and peers in the process, but escape the pressure nonetheless.

His biggest problem was the horcrux. First issue being he still had to _destroy_ it. Second, and undoubtedly the most difficult, Regulus was half convinced that he had duplicated the Dark Lord’s soul.

Not duplicated all of it, per say, but duplicated the piece that Voldemort had placed into the locket. It was difficult getting his head around it, but when Regulus had travelled back into time he’d transported the horcrux with him. With this, he had taken a piece of Voldemort’s soul from the _future_ and put it into a time when it technically _already existed_ but wasn’t _separate_ yet.

Essentially, he duplicated a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul.

It was all hypothetical of course. Regulus didn’t know if, by travelling back to a time where the horcrux wasn’t already made, he had accidently split off the soul anyway. Or perhaps the locket was no longer a horcrux. Regulus doubted the latter hypothesis, since the locket seemed to still radiate this air of _wrongness_ and dark magic.

His fingers itched for books to fill the empty hole where _time-magic involving dark objects_ had formed in his mind. Deciding it was suicide to inform Madam Pomfrey of departure, Regulus left the hospital wing without a word.

The library was where he was going.

━━━━━━━━━

Walking through the Hogwarts corridors was odd.

The threat of the Wizarding War and the Dark Lord’s reign hadn’t quite reached the walls of Hogwarts yet, and Regulus could feel an air of carelessness despite the underlying tension. It was so vastly different from the young Black’s last encounter with the school, where the majority of Slytherin house had claimed allegiance to the Dark Lord and many other students had gone into hiding.

The war had yet to become _personal_ at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Regulus spent the remainder of the evening buried deep in books, reading glasses perched comfortably on the bridge of his nose. Not too uncommon, if he were to be completely honest with himself. He searched as far as he could for any information on time-magic and its effects on dark objects, but the Hogwarts library wasn’t as well-informed as Regulus had hoped.

He understood that Professors couldn’t exactly be encouraging time-magic and meddling with dark objects, but the limited range of books was severely disappointing. There were a few textbooks on time-turners and the instabilities of travelling through time, which Regulus flicked through impatiently, although they were highly structured around the natural laws. He didn’t think his current predicament abided by the natural laws in any way.

Even if there was some level of logical continuity behind Regulus’ circumstances, it wouldn’t be explained in the books provided at Hogwarts. They pretty much said on the first page that if you meddle with time, you will inevitably die a painful and gruesome death which would most likely involve being ripped apart by the very structures of physics and the natural law.

There was the case of Eloise Mintumble, who when experimenting with time magic, travelled back to 1404. Regulus cringed when he read what became of her and the people she encountered.

“Black,” a male voice cut sharply through Regulus’ cloud of thoughts.

He looked up at the older student, an elegant eyebrow raised in impatient questioning. “Yes?”

“Were you planning on spending supper buried in a book?” the Slytherin inquired rhetorically, before walking away.

Regulus muttered a low _tempus_ , and startled at the time displayed. 6:15. Supper had already started. He shut the book he had been reading, pulling his pantos-style glasses from his eyes. He collected the few books that promised at least _some_ level of insight, before quickly borrowing them and departing the library.

The corridors still rang with a glowing warmth, and Regulus found it incredibly disorientating as he continuously passed students he knew to be dead, missing or in hiding. There were no quickly averted glances in his direction or fastened paces as people walked past, contrary to his last year in which all Slytherins were seen as Death Eaters.

The Great Hall was busy and loud when he entered, room bustling with energy that once again made Regulus furrow his brows at the contrast to what he knew ( _whispers, side-glances, disappearing students_ ). He sat down without being noticed, placing the small pile of books beside him so that nobody would try to sit there. It was a nice habit he had learned to ensure his privacy.

Of course Dakota and Magnus, along with Avery, Rosier and Pearce were sat in their usual places as well. Dakota once again seemed surprised to see him sit beside Magnus instead of Avery or Rosier like he did when he was 15 years old the _first_ time over.

“Time magic?” Rosier questioned bitterly as Regulus opened the book he had been reading through in the library. “Since when did _that_ interest you, Black? Surely it’s a bit futile, considering its lack of importance.”

The young Black didn’t bother to offer a glance. “I didn’t realise that futility was now synonymous with complexity. Besides, just because your feeble mind is incapable of comprehending such magic, doesn’t mean it isn’t vastly significant.”

Octavia Rosier’s eyes bulged in shock and embarrassment. Regulus caught Magnus trying to cover up his chuckle with a cough, and fought down his own smirk.

“You seemed to have recovered nicely,” Dakota said with a smothered smile, her long blonde hair falling across her eyes.

“Yes. I’m ashamed to say it took a bludger to the head to finally notice Rosier’s lack of intelligence and inability to comprehend magic far beyond her capability.”

And that was it for Magnus, who began to cackle from where he’d buried his head beneath his arms. Rosier’s ears burned a rosy pink, but Regulus only offered a small polite smile before going back to his book.

“What’s gotten into you, Black?” Cyrus Avery questioned.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t know what you mean, Avery.”

Avery’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’re… acting peculiar.”

“Am I now?” Regulus inquired with a slanted, clean brow. “I hadn’t any notice.”

The brunette bit his tongue and stared at Regulus for a long moment before going back to his food. Rosier grumbled at the lack of opposition against the young Black’s words.

He maintained his emotionless facade while laughing on the inside. He couldn’t believe how ignorant he used to be towards his “friends”’s idiocy. Honestly, no wonder people underestimated him — he was surrounded by complete fools! The exceptions were Dakota and Magnus, the latter sending a quick thumbs up underneath the table.

Regulus bit back another chuckle, reaching for one of the food platters to distract himself. It was more difficult to read in the Great Hall than he remembered. 

As he looked up, a tiny smile still tugging absentmindedly at his lips, his eyes met with a figure across the room at the Gryffindor table—

His smile dropped almost immediately, Sirius’ doing the same as they stared. And those steel eyes, which were almost an exact replica to his own, made his mind flash with bright memories.

_( “Calling for my help, little brother?” )_

Regulus’ hand tightened, nails biting small crescents into his palms.

_( “This is your fault, everything is always your fault. ” )_

He watched as Sirius’ eyes narrowed into a fiery glare.

_( “You didn’t think it through and now you’re going to die for nothing and nobody will ever know what you did!” )_

The youngest brother felt his heart clench painfully—

_( “This is what you get, Regulus. For being a bad brother.” )_

—and metal filled his taste buds from where he bit his tongue.

_( “You’re just a pathetic little coward. I don’t have time for traitors like you.” )_

His brother’s friends, the family he chose—

_( “You’re not my brother.” )_

—seemed to notice Sirius’ sudden silence. The Marauders turned to look and Regulus felt bitterness wrap its cold hand around his throat. There was judgement in their eyes—

_( “You were never my brother. Never will be.” )_

—and Regulus steeled himself, expression falling back into blank disinterest before anyone noticed the glossy pain that had begun to show through.


	2. i'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> regulus struggles™ with being in the past

Regulus’ first issue to solve was how on Earth he was supposed to hide a horcrux. Surely he couldn’t just carry it around with him, but where could he keep it? There were too many risks and too many possibilities and it made the Black heir so unbelievably paranoid.

At first he’d kept it around his neck (foolish decision, honestly) but Dakota had gotten too curious so he stopped wearing it. He’d gotten into the habit of keeping it in a dragon-hide pouch which he’d charmed to only open to his touch.

It had worked quite well, until one afternoon when the Marauders decided they had nothing better to do but annoy Regulus. He’d been quite happy with Sirius’ insistence on ignoring him, since it kept the memories of the lake and his death at bay. But Regulus Black had never been known for having good luck. In fact his life seemed to be plagued by quite the opposite.

“Oi!” a loud voice exclaimed loudly in Regulus’ ear, making him look up.

He’d been too lost in thought, library books hugged close to his chest, to notice where he’d been walking. And in his ignorance, he’d ran straight into Sirius. Well, almost. It seemed enough for Sirius to shout in retaliation, and Regulus felt his body flinch violently.

The sight of his brother alone could have made him flinch. It seemed as though the sight of his cold metal eyes and cocky grin overwhelmed Regulus too much, let alone _talking_ to him. Hearing his voice, hearing Regulus’ name on his tongue— it called upon memories he wished to remain buried.

So as soon as he’d seen who he’d bumped into, Regulus immediately tried to continue past the group. That was until his arm was grabbed and he was tugged directly back in front of them again. He inhaled sharply.

“Are you gonna apologise?” 

It was Potter who had grabbed him, his hand almost reaching around the entirety of Regulus’ bicep. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Sure, he hadn’t had much of an appetite after coming back. Maybe Potter’s hands were just really big.

“Prongs, it’s fine. Forget about it,” Sirius tried. Regulus almost furrowed his brows in confusion before remembering that 7th year was around the time when Lily Evans had come to knock some sense into the Marauders. 

But James didn’t let go, his hand tightening to the point where Regulus was reminded of his father. He looked up (yes, _up_ , because Potter was a _giant_ ) at the older student, eyes flickering somewhere between annoyance and panic. James glared down, eyes ablaze with what Regulus thought was protectiveness.

Of course. Because James was defending his friend. _His brother_.

( _“James is more of a brother than you’ve ever been! He’s my real family!”_ )

“Huh?” Potter demanded, still expecting an apology.

Regulus swallowed his pride for a moment, feeling awfully vulnerable under the attention of his brother’s friends. “My deepest apologies, Potter,” he replied with the least amount of sarcasm he could muster. Which… was still a lot. “Will you let me go, now?”

The Gryffindor’s grip tightened and Regulus winced, trying to pull out of the hold. “I’m not the one you ran into. Apologise to Sirius.”

Regulus wanted to slap him. How _arrogant_ . To push into business he has no right to. To force him out of the small safe space he’d formed in ignoring his brother’s existence since he’d come back. It was _his_ choice to toe that line, not _Potter’s_.

The Slytherin couldn’t even look at his brother, worried he’d maybe slap him too. There was energy bottled in his throat and beneath his fingertips and it bubbled furiously. He was afraid that when he opened his mouth he’d shout. Or cry. One or the other, he didn’t know which.

“Are you _deaf_?” Potter said with the same demanding tone, and Regulus felt his throat clench with unsaid words.

“Bloody hell, Potter, when will you learn to mind your own business?” he snapped in retaliation, wrenching his arm from the older boy’s grip.

“When _you_ learn to use your manners, Black. You won’t even look at him.”

Regulus laughed; short and bitter and cold. “Your arrogance astounds me, honestly. Do you interrogate everyone who accidentally runs into you in the corridors?”

“Only the slimy Slytherin gits,” Potter snapped back, just as harshly. 

“Yes, well I’m sure you have plenty of those around to annoy.” Regulus tried his best to avoid Sirius’ eyes, still worried about what would happen if his brother spoke to him. What he’d say in response.

He tried to walk past, only for James to shove his shoulder into his. The smaller boy stumbled to his knees, library books tumbling to the floor. He winced.

“James!” Lupin exclaimed, clearly startled by the uncalled for display of violence.

“What? He ran into me,” Potter said with a shrug.

Regulus held back a growl as he pushed himself back up. He reared back towards the group, not daring to see what Sirius’ face held. What expression he wore. What he thought.

“What was that for?” the Slytherin questioned.

“You were being disrespectful. I had to teach you a lesson somehow.” Potter had the audacity to look unbothered.

Regulus’ jaw clenched. “You sound just like my mother.”

Potter’s uncaring expression morphed into something akin to fury, and Regulus knew he’d taken the comparison the way he’d meant it. 

“How _dare_ you—”

“What’s this?”

Regulus’ head snapped to the sound of his brother’s voice. He didn’t dare to look him in the eye, but it didn’t matter since the thing in his hands was more important. More urgent.

“Give that back,” he demanded at the sight of the small dragon-hide pouch. _The horcrux_.

Sirius didn’t seem to comprehend exactly what he was holding. The pouch wouldn’t open— it _couldn’t open_. The charm meant that it wouldn’t open to anyone but— Regulus felt his stomach drop like a heavy stone. He’d forgotten to take into account blood relations. The charm wasn’t strong enough to prevent someone with the same blood from opening it.

“Well? What is it? It’s got to be pretty important if it’s in dragon-hide.” His brother didn’t seem to want to make eye contact either. He pulled the pouch open, reaching inside. Panic rose in Regulus’ belly like a bushfire at the sight of the pale-bronze chain.

“None of your business.”

“Then maybe we’ll just keep it, yeah?” Potter keyed in and Regulus had the urge to slap him again. Just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t do anything to you, so I don’t understand why you continue antagonising me—”

“Maybe cause you’re a stupid little coward who still listens to _mummy_ and _daddy_ and didn’t defend Sirius when—”

“Stop acting as if you know _anything_ about me!” Regulus interrupted with fire in his eyes. “You don’t— you don’t know one single thing. I don’t care what stories _Sirius_ told you, you don’t know shit!”

He breathed for a moment, pausing as he instantly regretted what he’d said.

“Just… just give it back. Please, Sirius.”

His brother looked too startled by the fact that Regulus had finally looked him in the eyes to do anything—

( _“Just leave, Sirius. Nobody wants you here. You cause too much trouble, you ruin everything. Leave, just leave!”_ )

—so the youngest brother snatched the pouch out of his hands. 

Regulus walked away from a startled group of Marauders, promising to never keep the horcrux on him again.

━━━━━━━━━

The second week of living in the past taught Regulus Black that sleep wasn’t something he should expect to become familiar with.

He’d never had the best sleeping schedule, even as a young child, but he can’t remember ever staying awake for more than three days straight without the excuse of exams or homework. The few times he did manage to fall asleep were few and far between, but they lasted no more than a couple of hours.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he was drowning. 

There was slime between his fingers, and water in his throat, and hands on his skin. His eyes stung from the nonexistent salt of the lake and his ears were tight with pressure. Inferi scratched and scratched until his skin turned to bloodied shreds. It was cold, and it was dark, and Regulus was always screaming despite his throat being filled with water. 

And then when the light from above the lake became too dull and the pressure between his temples got too strong, he’d wake up gasping for air he always did.

He would shiver and tuck his toes in, because despite it being only a dream, Regulus was _always_ cold. His throat would burn from the phantom pain of the potion and his mind would swim in its own personal pensive, because apparently he had nothing better to do other than _remember things_.

But he’d never scream himself awake, because he was drowning and even after waking up, water filled his belly and bubbled up to his throat. 

He’d be in a class and suddenly there was _slime_ under his tongue and he couldn’t _breath_ and his friends would look at him because _why are you choking on air?_

Regulus wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh until the irony didn’t make sense anymore. Because even though the cave and the horcrux and the inferi were simply memories now, Regulus Black was still drowning at the bottom of the lake, trapped under the bodies of the undead.

Fate was a cruel and bitter friend.

━━━━━━━━━

“Mr Black, I do hope I am not boring you.”

Regulus startled at the sound of his name, attention flickering from where he was trailing his quill over his palm, to Professor McGonagall. She stared at him over her oval-shaped glasses with something akin to disapproval. Regulus wasn’t usually the Black brother on the other end of that look.

“Not at all, Professor.”

“Right, then. May you please remind the class what the effects of the _Incarcifors spell_ are?” McGonagall looked down expectantly.

“The incantation _incarcifors_ transfigures the chosen object into a cage for a nearby creature, effectively imprisoning them. The prefix ‘infarci-’ originates from the English term ‘to incarcerate’ which means to confine or detain,” Regulus recited.

McGonagall seemed to think it was good enough, and continued on with the lesson. The young Slytherin sighed, wanting to drop his shoulders in exhaustion. But his mother’s voice rang clear in his head; _“Black’s don’t slouch. They don’t stutter, they don’t fumble, they don’t tremble or cry or scream or mope. They stand tall and proud and strong, Regulus. At least_ look _strong. Merlin knows you aren’t.”_

“Hey.” Magnus was nudging him in the shoulder gently, and Regulus held back a yawn when he looked over. “I heard you and your brother’s friends had a fight.”

The pale boy forced a short laugh to hide the pang of regret he always felt when reminded of the recent encounter. “I’d hardly call it a fight. Potter was being the usual arrogant git he is, and I told him to stop shoving his ugly nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Well it’s hardly ugly, and you know it.”

Regulus sent a harsh glare towards his friend at that statement before paying attention to McGonagall again. Well at least he looked like he was paying attention. His mind couldn’t stop swimming with thoughts of _horcruxes_ and _guilt_ and _memories_ and stupid Gryffindor brothers and their stupid Gryffindor friends with stupidly nice noses.

“It’s just…” Magnus sighed, and Regulus wanted to sigh in response. “You haven’t spoken to him — your brother, that is — in a while. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The youngest Black looked to the curly haired brunette, expression blank of anything that would show what he really felt about the encounter. “I’m alright, Magnus. I assure you, if my brother was being a git you would be the first to know. Besides, he seems just as keen as I am to ignore each other, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“That’s not healthy, Regulus.”

He scoffed. “As if I know what _healthy_ means. I’ve got Walburga Black as a mother.”

“I mean it’s not sustainable,” Magnus explained, pausing midway through the sentence he was writing. He turned to Regulus, making sure he was paying attention. His brown eyes were so dark, they looked black. (Regulus was reminded of the last time he saw those eyes; full of betrayal and despair and everything he didn’t want to see repeated). “You and Sirius keep dancing around each other, and while it might seem like a good idea now, it’s going to come back eventually. And when it does, it’s going to be even worse. I can tell you have things you want to say to him, and I can tell he does as well. Just… how long do you think you can pretend you’re both fine with how everything is?”

Regulus looked back at his friend, jaw tense. He hated how right his friend always was. How knowing and understanding and logical he was. It reminded him of Albus Dumbledore, in a strange way.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He swallowed, tearing his attention back to his half-filled page of parchment. “I’ll deal with it when it comes. But… I really don’t know.”

━━━━━━━━━

It was two in the morning, and Regulus still couldn’t sleep. 

His dorm was quiet, Avery’s persistent snoring and Selwyn’s loud breathing being the exceptions. It was dark, excluding the pale glow of the moon that managed to shine through the Lake’s water and into their dorm. Although Regulus had pulled the curtains across the window closest to his bed as soon as the feeling of skeletal hands came back at the sight of being underwater.

It was dumb, really. 

He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t shower for any more than two minutes and he couldn’t even stand looking out the bloody window. It was driving him insane. How the shower water made him cold, no matter how hot he turned the knob. How whenever he closed his eyes he was drowning in the cave lake with his throat on fire. How whenever he tried to eat it tasted like blood or salt or that _bloody potion_.

It was dumb, and irrational, and childish and cowardly and Regulus _hated himself_ for it. 

When he couldn’t handle simply lying in his bed anymore, the black-haired boy lifted his duvet. The air of the dormitory made him shiver as soon as he’d left the comfort of his bed and the floor sent recurring chills through his heels. He stifled a yawn as he grabbed his warmest jumper from the end of his bed, as well as his diary from his trunk, and continued down to the common room. 

The room was empty, as Regulus had both hoped and predicted, and he quickly found himself huddling close by the fireplace. He was thankful for its warmth, as his fingers were turning a pale purple from the cold.

His diary soon found its way nestled on top of his knees, quill scribbling down everything that was overcrowding his mind.

He’d found the diary in his trunk, after he’d completely forgotten he’d ever had it. 15-year-old Regulus had barely used it, other than the few sketches he’d managed to fit in occasionally. But now, 15 years old for a _second_ time, he found it quite useful. All his notes and questions about horcruxes and time-magic were scribbled somewhere throughout the pages; some underneath drawings from when he’d suddenly thought of them, others accompanied by pages of research and findings. It was a mess, but it was much easier than remembering everything.

There was a drawing of the locket as well, with questions surrounding it. 

_Hypothetical destruction:_

_Confringo ✘_

_Reducto ✘_

_Bombara maxima ✘_

_Friendfyre (proposed in_ _Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullock_ _)_

 _Basilisk venom (proposed in_ _Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullock_ _)_

_Killing curse?_

_→ side effects of exposure? possession of weak mind after extended periods of time, alterations in mood, enhances phobias and negative thoughts (proposed in_ _Dark Objects and Their Most Severe Consequences by Parksley B. Maupe_ _)_

_→ possible to make multiple?_

_→ how many?_ _→ what are they?_

_Slytherin Locket_ _→ suggests personal significance_

_→ if more, also houses? same significance?_

_Secrets of the Darkest Arts by Owle Bullock ✔︎_

_Dark Objects and Their Most Severe Consequences by Parksley B. Maupe ✔︎_

_The Strangest of the Dark Arts by Amir Travills_

_Historical Origins of Dark Objects by Renae Gibbs ✔︎_

_Mysteries of Immortality (And is it Possible?) by Selky Yibet_

_Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking ✔︎_

_The Theory of Time-Magic by H.B. Phyllius ✔︎_

_Why Time-Magic is a Hoax by Inigo Inaus_

_Time and the Dangers in Defying it by Atticus Grendleway ✔︎_

_What Makes a Dark Wizard? By Pavill T.R. ✔︎_

_The Muggle Psychology Behind Dark Wizards by Straug Fickery_

His notes were as extensive as they were incomprehensible. Anyone who read it (which would be _nobody_ , given the advanced concealment charm and protective runes he had placed upon it) would think he was absolutely mad.

Regulus flicked through the remaining pages absentmindedly, half-considering how long it would take until he needed a new one, before pausing at a not-blank sheet. It was a couple of pages from the back, as if his younger-self had decided that it was too secretive to put even at the back (since a random point was more inconspicuous).

He felt his heart clench painfully at the drawings, his mind suddenly remembering what he’d put there. They were sketches of Sirius. Well, some of them at least. All from school, since he’d gotten the diary after his brother had run away, although there was one that must have been a copy of a childhood photograph.

The first was of Sirius at Quidditch practice, his eyes narrowed in concentration and pencil marks quick as to capture the moment before it passed. The second was from the library, a book nestled between his fingers.

One drawing almost took up two whole sheets: a line-up of the Marauders, sitting at the Gryffindor table. Sirius was laughing obnoxiously at Potter, both of them with bright eyes. Lupin’s head rested on his brother’s shoulder as he smiled timidly at whatever they were saying. Pettigrew leaned forward from Potter’s other side, eyes wide as he tried to capture the conversation. 

Regulus didn’t know why he would do this to himself, honestly. Well, he did, actually. These sketches were the only way he could feel like he still had a brother after Sirius left. He remembered wishing he would look at Regulus the way he looked at James Potter; like he was the only thing that mattered and he would protect him at all costs, no matter the consequences.

And maybe… maybe the horcrux wasn’t the only reason fate sent him back in time. Maybe this was a second chance to make sure he didn’t die with the same regrets he had the first time around. Regrets like his last words to his brother being full of hate and jealousy, rather than love and apology.

( _“How long do you think you can pretend you’re both fine with how everything is?”_ )

Maybe it was time for Regulus Black to reconcile with his older brother.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━

  
  


“Reg.” Something pushed against his shoulder. “Regulus.”

The boy’s eyes blinked open heavily, weighed down by the too-plentiful hours he’d spent awake. He’d only managed to snatch about 5 hours of sleep across the last three days. Everything looked a bit blurry for a moment, before Magnus’ face bled into view and Regulus realised they were still in class.

“Sorry,” he murmured. He cringed at the hoarse gravel of his voice.

Magnus chewed the inside of the lip, seemed to sigh in defeat, before nodding and returning to his notes. Professor Slughorn droned on with his lecture, and Regulus had never been so bored in a potions lesson before. Usually he paid attention, since potions was one of his top classes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus.

Along with that, Regulus had been having difficulties with his magic. It made him more irritated than sad. He could still feel his magical core; it still bubbled under his skin and tickled his mind like firecrackers. But for some reason, he couldn’t translate it to spells and charms. It was as if, after coming back from the dead and travelling three years into the past, his wand no longer wanted to perform magic for him.

The youngest Black barely even noticed the rest of the lesson; words flying by in a dream-like blur. His breathing was loud, and Slughorn’s voice was quiet, and the room looked like it had been washed with grey watercolour. He was so awfully tired.

The second lesson of the day passed just as quickly and it was lunch before he knew it. Walking down the halls, with Magnus pressed reassuringly by his side, and sitting down in the Great Hall felt like some sort of out-of-body experience. The bench beneath him didn’t feel like it was actually there and he chewed his food until it turned to mush. He lost his appetite before he even got it, and the roar of the Hogwarts students sounded like a constant buzzing in his ears.

When the white noise got too loud and his heart began stuttering too fast, Regulus stood from his seat. “I’m going to the library,” he declared plainly.

Dakota looked startled. “We only just got here. You haven’t eaten anything— and you skipped breakfast too.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Magnus bit his lip, and Regulus just wanted to leave. “Mate, you haven’t been sleeping either. And you’re _always_ in the library. What are you even doing in there?”

 _Researching time-magic and horcruxes, reading to silence his own thoughts, figuring out what the hell he’s supposed to do over the Christmas holidays since he sure as hell couldn’t go back home_.

“None of your business,” he snapped instead.

“Well,” Magnus started, “I think it _is_ our business. You’re… you’ve changed. And while some of it is brilliant, like you not listening to whatever bigotry Rosier and Avery spout, some of it… some of it is bad.”

Regulus’ hand clenched, and he had the sudden urge to just disappear. Magnus had _no right_ to pick at his flaws like that. A strange, foreign fire burned in his belly.

“You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, you haven’t been paying attention in class, you got into a fight with Sirius, you’re always in the _goddamn_ library. I mean— just… _why_?” the olive-skinned boy questioned in exasperation.

“None of your business, Flint, so just _back off_.”

His friend flinched at the use of his last-name.

Dakota looked between the two. “Regulus, we’re only concerned. You’ve… you’ve done this before but never this badly. We don’t know if it’s something that will keep on… getting worse. Maybe you can talk to someone about it?”

“I don’t need a bloody shrink, so just stop _bothering_ me!”

The buzzing in his ears dulled, and it took a second of heavy breathing for Regulus to realise that the Great Hall had suddenly gone quieter.

Anger burned hot and red in his blood and Regulus felt like he could suddenly blow something up if he wanted. His body trembled with bottled power and he wanted release. He needed release.

“Regulus,” Magnus called smoothly. The black-haired boy looked to him, eyes still narrowed in a harsh glare, noticing the other Slytherin was looking at something on the floor.

The Black heir looked down, breath catching at the scorch marks that had turned the stone beneath him black. He stumbled back, shoulders heaving with his breaths as he stared at the silhouette of his shoes. Black scorch marks splintered off from the centre, where the bare shoe prints were, like someone had pressed a firework into the floor and let it go off. 

Horror invaded his veins as he realised what he’d done. His eyes scanned across the lightly buzzing room, catching on the staff table where most of the Professors stared back.

Regulus felt his breath go cold in his throat. He was fleeing the room before he made another stupid mistake and dared to check if his brother had seen the incident from the Gryffindor table.

How could he have lost his temper like that? Was his 15-year-old body so underdeveloped that he couldn’t even hold back his anger? And the teachers had seen— how _foolish_ did he have to be?

He felt so angry— so _irritated_ by everything. His throat was tight with unsaid words; secrets kept quiet under his tongue. He was tired of lying and tired of people making it harder for him to lie. It was unfair; everything was _so unfair_. 

Why did Sirius have to leave everything to him? Wasn’t it all _his_ fault? Didn’t his betrayal leave all the responsibilities to Regulus? Wasn’t he why Regulus had to take the Dark Mark? 

_Sirius couldn’t have known_ , the more rational side of Regulus thought. _Besides, you were the one who made him leave. It wasn’t Sirius’ fault, it was your parents’._

But Regulus ignored that voice. _It was all Sirius’ fault_ , he insisted despite the obvious evidence against it.

Regulus found himself sitting in one of the small courtyards closest to the Astronomy Tower. The breeze helped cool his hot skin down, despite his bones feeling numb as ice. His head was busy with tiny firecrackers that kept firing off.

He exhaled, and paused.

_( “What are you doing?” Sirius asked from his desk across the room, legs crossed and quill tucked behind his ear._

_“What?” Regulus replied in confusion, the blackness that had formed around his vision fading as he allowed air back into his lungs._

_“You… you stopped breathing,” his older brother said with slightly furrowed brows. “That was the third time you’d done it.”_

_“Had I?” Regulus replied dumbly, acting as if he hadn’t noticed. As if he hadn’t done it on purpose._

_Sirius chuffed out a barking laugh. “Only you would forget to breathe, Reggie. Honestly, how do you not notice?”_

_The youngest Black brushed off the question, eyes drawing back to his book as he ignored his brother’s concerned, steel eyes. )_

A moment passed before his vision started bleeding black and the pressure built up too high. Regulus finally breathed in again.

It seemed as though anger and the pressure in his head were the only things he could really feel anymore. That, and confusion. Because no matter how many books he read or how much time he spent thinking over everything, Regulus still didn’t know what the hell he was doing with himself.

━━━━━━━━━

He was called to the Headmaster’s office the following morning.

Regulus’ blood boiled at the idea of having to talk to Dumbledore, a man he’d never been able to fully trust, but he was glad he could escape Professor Binn’s droning lecture. He didn’t understand why the Headmaster wanted to meet with him though, instead of his Head of House, Professor Slughorn.

“Would you like a toffee?” the Light wizard questioned when the Black heir entered his office. Regulus fought back a scowl. He’d never understood Dumbledore’s strange sense of wise oblivion.

“No,” the young boy bit out, before he reminded himself who he was raised by, “thank you.”

Dumbledore hummed, and Regulus awkwardly averted his eyes. The Hogwarts Headmaster confused him too much. He never knew what to expect, and as someone who prided himself on his ability to predict outcomes to situations, Albus Dumbledore made his head spin. He was unpredictable while never acting out of character. He either had calm and wise, oblivious and whimsical or stern and powerful. Regulus never knew which one he was going to get.

“They are awfully sweet, I must admit.”

Regulus once again found himself sinking in a pit of confusion. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore nodded, waving a finger in the air as if remembering something. “Come sit, young Regulus.”

The boy sat in the prettily carved chair on the opposite side of Dumbledore’s desk, where the man sat calmly.

“I believe you probably know what you are here for, yes?”

Regulus let his eyes flicker to the desk, where pages and ink sat haphazardly. “I’m terribly sorry for what I did to the floor. It did… it did come off, didn’t it? The scorch marks?”

“Oh, yes, yes. That was nothing to worry about. Although, I am concerned as to what provoked such a reaction. I understand you are undergoing a lot of stress due to your upcoming OWL exams this year—”

“No, that’s not…” Regulus trailed off after realising he had interrupted. Dumbledore didn’t look annoyed, only curious. Regulus hated curiosity, especially when it was aimed towards himself. “The OWL’s are not something I’m anxious about, sir.”

“Ah, I see.”

And suddenly the black-haired boy felt as though his Headmaster really _did_ see. He wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in not telling everything about the horcrux to the older wizard. Albus Dumbledore could definitely help but… _No_ , Regulus scolded himself, _he cannot be trusted_. Dumbledore manipulated, and he tugged strings people didn’t even know existed until he got what he wanted. He knew secrets and he kept secrets and he prodded at vulnerable minds until he learnt secrets.

Albus Dumbledore wasn’t too far off from Lord Voldemort in that way.

“It is your parents, then,” the Headmaster spoke carefully, and Regulus had the sudden instinct to run. “They have expectations that you feel are too high to reach.”

 _Shut up_ , Regulus thought. _Stop pretending as if you understand anything about my family._

“It’s fine, I’m dealing with it fine.” Because he _was_. He was dealing with it by pretending the issue didn’t exist.

Dumbledore hummed lowly. “I spoke to your good friends, Mr Flint and Miss Sinclair, and they have told me that you certainly don’t seem fine. They explained very explicitly that you haven’t been eating or sleeping. I have noticed you’ve limited your encounters with Avery, Rosier and Pearce, as well. Why would that be, Mr Black?”

Regulus scowled. He wanted the old man to stop pushing where he shouldn’t. “No reason. They’ve just become more annoying. I don’t like associating with annoying people.”

“There didn’t seem to be a problem before.”

“Your point?” the young boy snapped, patience thinning. “Why am I here, Professor?”

Dumbledore paused, expression adopting a more serious look which made the wizard look even older. “I’m going to have to be awfully blunt with you, young Regulus. I’m sorry for the insensitivity, but— I know that you aspire to be recruited by Lord Voldemort.”

Regulus’ skin suddenly felt cold all over.

“You have to understand that this puts me in _quite_ the predicament, Mr Black.”

“Yes— I mean, no,” the young boy fumbled over his words. “I don’t want to—”

Dumbledore sighed, clasping his old, wrinkled hands in front of him. “I’m afraid that you, like many others in your House, have already chosen their side of the war. This _is_ what yesterday’s outburst was about, wasn’t it?”

Regulus’ blood boiled at the stereotype the Headmaster painted of the Slytherin House. He never understood the snakes, but _really_? Claiming that all of them wanted to side with the Dark Lord? That was favouritism at its finest. 

The young boy exhaled shakily. “Partially, yes.” He hated admitting such to a man like Albus Dumbledore.

“Because your companions, Flint and Sinclair, perhaps don’t agree?”

Regulus’ glare was cold and sharp and in all ways Black. “No, that’s not— _you don’t understand_ . I do not _want_ to become a Death Eater. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I simply want to know how worried I should be for your future, young Regulus.”

The boy scoffed, thinking of the road fate led him down the first time round. He didn’t believe that Dumbledore was concerned for his well being one bit. He only cared if he had to expel him for being a _Death Eater_. After everything Regulus had been through to make sure the Dark Lord wouldn’t succeed before he died—

Regulus averted his eyes. _He wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not when— not when there were still things that needed to be sorted. Not when he was still so unsure._

“You don’t need to worry about me becoming a follower to the Dark Lord and murdering your students, Professor, so don’t worry.”

Regulus stood, preparing to leave.

“Do take care of yourself, Mr Black. Surviving a war is awfully hard when you do not protect yourself.”

The young Black nodded, slightly awkward, skin burning with hatred. He sighed, trying to ease the heat building behind his eyes. Before he could exit the office, he remembered something. 

“Oh, Professor?”

Dumbledore looked up, fingers joined in front of him like he was contemplating something very important. “Yes, Mr Black?”

Regulus swallowed his pride, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… I think I require a new wand.”

━━━━━━━━━

Mr Ollivander wasn’t too surprised to see Regulus Black at his store.

He still remembered when he first saw him; a small, thin boy that was such a contrast to his loud and head-strong brother. He’d been nervous and timid, looking like he was trying _so, so hard_ to impress his parents. It made Garrick frown when Walburga and Orion Black scolded Regulus for accidentally setting fire to his desk. As if they hadn’t done the same thing when they were trying for wands.

Hawthorn, his wand had been. Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core, 11” and reasonably supple.

He’d thought it was a fairly soft wand, despite the potential he saw in young Regulus. Especially since he was a Black. And the hawthorn… the hawthorn was interesting. Yes, interesting indeed. He knew hawthorn sought wizards and witches who were at odds with themselves. It was a wand wood which grew its power from contradiction and paradoxes, something that Garrick had always found especially difficult to place. 

So finding Regulus Black at his door, telling him that he required a new wand, intrigued Garrick Ollivander. Intrigued him very much.

“Ah, Mr Black,” Garrick welcomed with a smile. “Always an honour to see you.”

The young boy smiled back politely. “The honour is all mine. Unfortunately, my wand seems to have… died. I’m not quite sure—”

“Oh, yes, yes. Hawthorn is known to easily fall out with the wizards and witches it initially chooses. You see, the wood is especially picky. Not to fret. You are fortunate its abilities simply simmered out, instead of backfiring like they commonly do. Yes, very fortunate indeed.”

Ollivander watched as the pale boy placed the wand on the table, a sad sort of look adorning his features. “Oh, do not think it is betraying you, Mr Black. No, no. Certainly not!”

He picked it up, drawing it close to his ear to listen. “Hm, yes. It understands you no longer face the same confliction you did when it first chose you. Very interesting, it was, when it chose you. Hawthorn choosing a Black…”

Regulus looked at him apprehensively. “Will finding another loyal wand be difficult?”

Ollivander paused in thought. “It depends, Mr Black. Some wands only want to be one’s first wand. Some only choose developed and matured minds. Nevertheless, we will find you a wand. Yes, yes we will.”

The first wand offered was “Willow, 11½”, phoenix feather core. Your brother was never patient enough for a phoenix core, I knew that before he even tried one. You, however, demonstrate quite the opposite.”

Regulus picked it up, waving it in a clean stroke. The windows of the shop shattered.

The second wand was passed over once the windows were fixed. “Pine, dragon heartstring core. For a very independent and creative wizard or witch.”

That one didn’t seem to fit either. Or the next. Or the next. And just when Ollivander thought he was going to have to _really_ think about this one, there was a shake from the back of the store room.

The old man turned, eyes quirked and curious. Walking towards the shelf with the shaking wand box, he was happily surprised by the label. _Of course_ , he thought.

The box shook more violently, and by the time Ollivander reached the young boy at the front of the shop, the wand was bursting out and into his hands. Regulus startled, eyes wide at the dark, ashy wand that had forced its way into his palm.

Garrick chuckled humorously. “Yes, yes, an eager wand, vine is.”

“Vine?” Regulus questioned, rolling the wand in his palm. It was smooth and perfectly straight, with tiny carvings of vine leaves winding to the tip. He could feel the warmth radiating from it, as if it was greeting him like an old friend. As if they were familiar.

“Yes, vine, 12”, slightly unyielding, phoenix feather core. Quite an uncommon wood, I must admit. Combination as well. But very special. Very unique. You never fail to surprise me, Mr Black. This wand is very special, yes, and I trust it knows you are very special too. This will be the third vine wand I have sold in my years. An honour, yes. They were very special people as well. Vine is a very understanding wood. It requires a very level-headed witch or wizard in order to work in harmony. There is a level of difficulty in building a loyal relationship, but this wand seems eager to know you, Mr Black. Interesting, considering the phoenix core. But you are patient, and seem prepared to put just as much effort into learning about your wand than it will.

“You will do great things with this wand. Great things indeed. Vine promises a witch or wizard of unimaginable potential, of purpose beyond the ordinary. And with that, it also allows for an understanding deeper than most wands. Vine is very keen at learning how its master works and its role in your destiny.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of Regulus’ lips. “I think I need a wand that is willing to understand.”


	3. i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

“Look, Regulus, I’m sorry for being so presumptuous the other day,” Magnus said one morning while the youngest Black was buttoning up his uniform shirt. “Dakota and I are simply concerned. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, although I do hope you understand we’re willing to listen.”

Regulus raised a clean, dark brow in mild surprise. His hands were paused on the last button as he processed what exactly his friend was apologising for. “You’re… apologising.”

Magnus let out a confused chuckle, hand running through his brown curls before crossing his arms and leaning against one of his bed-posts. “Uh… yeah, well—”

“You don’t have to apologise. I was a complete prick to you,” Regulus interrupted. “And I managed to embarrass myself in front of the entire school in the process.”

“Not  _ everyone _ heard, don’t be so full of yourself.” Magnus snorted, before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

The pale boy waited for him to say what he wanted to, noticing his obvious hesitation. Magnus noticed that Regulus was still looking at him before chuckling sheepishly.

“Sorry, it’s just… I’m not used to this whole  _ Regulus-actually-acknowledging-his-own-mistakes _ thing. I mean, you acknowledged them before, you just never… admitted to them.”

Regulus rolled his eyes playfully, pulling his tie around his neck. “Yes, I was an obnoxious prat. Anything else you want to say? You seem to be on a streak.”

“That’s not what I meant, Reg,” Magnus insisted. “It’s confusing, is all. One second you’re teaching Avery and Rosier how to be pretentious, pureblood snobs and then the next second you’re insulting their egos into last year. Did something happen? I just can’t figure out the catalyst.”

The shortest of the two felt like laughing at his friend’s frustration in not knowing things. They were very similar in that way. 

“I can’t tell you,” Regulus answered honestly. “But it did involve a… revelation of sorts.”

It was as much as he’d told  _ anyone _ about what had happened. Albeit small, the confession lifted some of the weight off. At least now Magnus would know that  _ something _ had occurred, which meant they were a little closer to some sort of understanding.

“Did it have to do with your brother?” Magnus looked curious, but not intrusive like Dumbledore did when he questioned him.

Regulus shook his head. “No. But it did… he’s also something that’s changed.”

“Really?”

“Kind of. I think,” he stuttered, trying to think of a way to explain without saying ‘ _ I don’t want to die again without telling my brother I never actually hated him’ _ . “I’ve realised I can’t keep stretching on this game of hide-and-seek. I’m tired of it, to be completely honest with you.”

Magnus’s eyes seemed to light up with something akin to pride. Regulus ignored the slight burn of his cheeks at such an expression being aimed towards him. “I’m happy, Regulus. Really. Whatever this  _ revelation _ was, I’m glad it happened. Even if you have been a bit snappy at times…”

“Yeah, well I don’t know what the cause of that is. I’ve had trouble sleeping and for some reason I’m always feeling angry. Not— not angry. Like my throat is always tight with things I want to say and I’m always fidgeting with bottled up energy just waiting to lash out. Like—”

Regulus’ eyes paused on the mattress of his bed, where he knew the dragon-hide pouch and horcrux were hidden under.

_ … The soul inside a horcrux may feed off the negative emotions of those carrying it. In such a case where the owner’s mind is not vulnerable enough for possession, the horcrux will attempt to survive off the dark energy of nearby living beings. This is also a defense mechanism, as it may create a possessive and over-proprietorial nature within the owner in order to protect itself from destruction. A person carrying or wearing a horcrux for extended periods of time will notice a shift in mood and increase in phobias and negative thoughts…  _

He stood for a moment; still and unnerved. 

The book he’d read,  _ Dark Objects and Their Most Severe Consequences by Parksley B. Maupe _ , had explained the effects of being exposed to horcruxes for such long periods of time. Had it been… had it been the cause of his anger all this time?

Now that he thought about it, the anger did seem slightly irrational and out-of-character. And that was still considering the fact that he’d been placed into the past.

“We can ask Madam Pomfrey for some  _ Dreamless Sleep _ if you want,” Magnus suggested, breaking through Regulus’ thoughts. “I used to borrow some back in second year when I hadn’t solved my insomnia yet. She gives it to a lot of students, actually. Especially during exam season.”

Regulus hadn’t thought of that. Well, he had. He was just too embarrassed to go to the Hospital Wing asking for  _ Dreamless Sleep _ . “Erm… yeah I might ask, actually.”

“Nightmares?” Magnus questioned, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Regulus exhaled, glancing away. “Something like that.”

The pair met their blonde, female friend in the Common Room before heading to the Great Hall.

“So, you ready for this weekend’s game?” Dakota questioned, pale eyes glinting with hidden excitement. Regulus felt too tired to share the enthusiasm. “Ravenclaw’s got two new chasers this year. Siblings. Apparently they’re bloody brilliant together.”

Magnus huffed. “Can’t be better than us though, right?”

Regulus sent a small smile to the side, rubbing the dark bags underneath his eyes. “As long as you don’t let them get too far ahead, then I'll win us the match.”

Dakota scoffed playfully. “Regulus Black, how awfully arrogant of you. You sound like Potter.”

The shortest of the three scrunched his nose up in disdain. “Don’t compare me to that fool. Merlin, ‘Kota. There’s not a worse insult out there.”

“A handsome fool, though. It’s just my luck that he’s an arrogant Gryffindor, huh?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “He’s pretty average looking, honestly.”

Magnus cackled, elbowing the pale boy in the ribs. “Yeah right.”

“Don’t worry, Regulus, he’s nowhere near as pretty as you,” Dakota grinned teasily.

Regulus’ ears burned pink. “That’s not—”

“Black genes must be gifts from Merlin himself, I swear,” Magnus said, ignoring Regulus completely to agree with Dakota. “The first time I saw Sirius Black, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

“More like hell, if he’s there,” Regulus grumbled, glad his friends didn’t notice his flinch at the mention of his brother.

The others laughed at his sour expression as they entered the Great Hall and sat down. Regulus was glad to see that the scorch marks he’d made had disappeared.

Avery, Rosier and Pearce, who the trio had recently begun blatantly ignoring, scowled and shuffled further down the Slytherin table. Magnus and Dakota grabbed their usual morning tea while Regulus only looked at the food in apprehension. He reluctantly grabbed a slice of toast when the other two stared expectantly at him. 

“Well the mark’s gone,” Magnus said, and Regulus almost had a heart attack.  _ Mark? The Dark Mark? _ “House-elves probably cleaned it up.”

The Black heir calmed at the realisation that he was talking about the scorch marks. “Oh, yeah. By the way, sorry about that Dakota. I’ve been a bit… on edge recently.”

Dakota looked just as surprised at the apology as Magnus had been. “I forgive you,” she said in a distinctly Slytherin way. “I was shocked when it happened. You haven’t done accidental magic in… well 3 years.”

Regulus ducked his head at that, reaching for the butter. “Yeah, my magic’s been a bit on and off as well. I had to get a new wand actually. Last one died on me.”

Magnus glanced at him, pausing with a spoonful of scrambled eggs half-raised to his lips. “Really?” He shared a slightly wide-eyed look with Dakota. “Your wand was hawthorn.”

The pale boy paused as well, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Yes?”

When Magnus didn’t elaborate, Dakota picked up. “Well, hawthorn is usually attracted to those experiencing some sort of inner conflict. And it… died on you.”

Regulus squirmed uncomfortably. “They don’t always pick witches and wizards like that. And besides, if it died then obviously I never fit that type.”

Dakota and Magnus shared a look which said  _ ‘we’ll talk about it later’ _ .

“So—”

“Flint, Black, Sinclair,” a voice interrupted, and Regulus turned to see the Slytherin captain walking towards where they sat.

Emma Vanity was in seventh year and had been captain last year as well. Regulus knew that next year Valerio Dune would take her place. She was tall with dark bronze skin and slick black hair that she always had done in two dutch braids. Vanity was someone who looked like you shouldn’t cross, but Regulus knew she had a mother-hen side which usually came out when one of them got injured in a game.

“I organised an extra practice this afternoon, 4 o’clock. You don’t have anything on, do you?” Emma questioned, leaning across Dakota to grab a chocolate croissant. She took a bite, raising a brow expectantly.

“Well the Marauders’ Fan Club  _ did _ have a meeting but I suppose we’ll have to miss it,” Dakota replied sarcastically, sighing as if it was a big disappointment. “Oh well.”

Emma snorted. “Regulus couldn’t be forced even to that even under the imperius.”

The boy in question smirked before a yawn rose in his throat.

The Quidditch captain raised her eyebrows. “You not sleeping, Black?”

Regulus hummed vacantly, rubbing his eyes. “Haven’t been able to, recently.”

She finished her croissant with a pop of her mouth, licking the chocolate off her lips. “Well rest up before the match, okay? We need our Seeker in top shape if we wanna win.”

━━━━━━━━━

The day went pretty quickly in comparison to how the previous ones had been. Potions with Slughorn, Ancient Runes with Kentrow, Dark Arts with Sage and double Transfiguration with McGonagall. 

Regulus was glad for the Quidditch practice by the time it came around, since he was bubbling with energy. He needed to get on a broom, to be up in the air, before he burst. It seemed as though everything annoyed him at that point. Nathan Drawley tapping his quill all through Ancient Runes, Slughorn never finishing his sentences, Emile Rose reading off his notes in Transfiguration. 

At least he could blame the constant anger on the horcrux now. The knowledge that there was an external factor causing it and not him just being angry made him slightly less worried. Slightly. 

“Alright, I wanna go through our drills before the weekend; update everyone’s memory and all that,” Emma Vanity began after they’d collected their brooms.

Thankfully she’d let the team wear just their Quidditch jumpers and not the whole uniform, since everyone knew they were as impractical as clothes could get. Regulus tugged at the neck of his own emerald and silver jumper before pulling on his fingerless Seeker gloves. His hair was pulled into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, although strands still fell around his face. His hair wasn’t nearly as long as Sirius’, so it was harder to tie back.

“Flint and Sinclair, we need to go through our sparrow formation, also the Sabryn Steal,” Emma continued. “Beaters, you know what you’re doing. Keeper, your double-eight was looking a bit sloppy last time. Black, how’s your Wronski Feint going?”

Regulus looked up with a nod. “Good.”

“Brilliant,” Emma smiled. “Burke, try not to knock Black’s head off again. I also wanna go through our 2nd diversion, alright?”

The Seeker nodded before they all jumped on their brooms and were off into the air. The practice Snitch had already been released, but Regulus couldn’t be bothered to look for it quite yet.

Regulus breathed in the cold air as he flew above the Quidditch stands, wind stinging his skin. There was a familiar sense of weightlessness that he always got when flying; like he could float all the way to space if he wanted. A balloon grew in his stomach, leather gloves squeaking as his hands clenched around his broomstick. 

The rest of the Slytherin team began their drills as Regulus practiced his dives. He’d become awfully good at them in his later years, so he was glad he could take those talents back to fifth year. The muscle memory hadn’t quite travelled back with the knowledge, however, and it was odd teaching his body the moves they should already know.

Regulus went diving for the Snitch as soon as he saw it; body leaning forward on his broom. His hair flew wildly and tickled his ears but he didn’t let the irritation distract him. The golden ball sparkled under the evening sun, wings twinkling teasingly.

He swerved, mirroring the Snitch’s change in direction, when a body jammed into his. Regulus’ broom swung off course, head reeling at the disturbance in concentration. 

“Oi!” a voice yelled from below, where Regulus realised the rest of the team had also been interrupted.

He looked to see who had ran into him, eyes narrowing into a glare at the sight of the Gryffindor chaser; Felicity Taunt. Regulus scowled, drawing closer to his team who had clearly been disrupted by the Gryffindor team. Both teams faced each other with the captains in front, hovering no more than fifteen meters above the ground.

Magnus and Dakota closed in on either side of him as they watched the two team captains talk. Or… argue, was a better way to put it.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Potter?” Emma questioned, clearly irritated by the new presence. She rested back on her Comet 220, feet tucked behind the crossbars to keep balanced.

James Potter smiled; slightly mischievous, slightly arrogant. Regulus hated the sight of him. “Thought we could do a double practice, Emma!”

“We have a game in two days, Potter. You don’t need the field right now.”

“That’s why we’re  _ both _ using the field,” he said as if it was obvious. Sirius hovered beside him, slightly behind. Regulus averted his eyes when the older brother glanced in his direction.

“And why would we choose that over normal practice?” the Slytherin captain questioned with a tired sigh.

“Well it’s closer to a real game, right? Might as well make the most of it,” James shrugged.

“No,” Emma replied blandly. “It doesn’t benefit us anyway. Actually, it kind of creates a disadvantage since we’d learn each other’s new tactics. So no.”

It was a very Slytherin response, when Regulus thought about it. Weigh the pros and cons, make a logical judgement based on personal benefit.

The Gryffindor captain smirked. “So you wouldn’t mind if we just… flew around?” He waved his hands, gesturing to the now-still field that they’d previously been practicing on.

Emma’s eyes narrowed as Regulus rolled his. 

“Bugger off, Potter,” Valerio Dune said blandly. “We had the field booked. We don’t want you here. So piss off.”

Leave it to Dune to make the Gryffindor team annoyed. Bruising a Gryffindor’s ego is quite possibly the most dangerous thing you could do.

“Nobody asked you to talk, Dune,” snapped Preston Fawley.

“But they asked you to?” Regulus questioned back at the other fifth-year, feigning innocence. “Sounds awfully hypocritical to me.”

Fawley’s eyes went dark. “I heard Rosier and Avery kicked you out. What was it? Too cowardly or too clingy?”

Regulus heard the leather of his gloves squeak as he clenched his fists. “Oh, you’d know all about clingy, wouldn’t you? You can’t stand one  _ second _ without holding Blithe’s hand. Do you sleep in his bed as well?”

“ _ Regulus _ ,” Magnus scolded under his breath.

Preston Fawley lunged forward, fully prepared to ram Regulus right off his broom, when Frank Longbottom snatched the back of his shirt.

Regulus, like the asshole he is, smirked. He didn’t know why he was talking. He didn’t need to talk. It was like some dark, selfish part of him demanded attention; demanded the final say. “Oh, I see. It’s Longbottom you sleep with.”

“You’ll regret that, Black!” Fawley exclaimed, snatching the beater’s bat out of Sirius’ hands and hurtling it towards Regulus.

The Slytherin dodged easily, looking behind him as Yaxley flew to catch the falling bat. He raised a brow. “Really—”

_ Crunch _ .

Everything was silent for a moment, before Regulus processed why his nose suddenly hurt so bad.  _ Fawley had punched him _ . The Slytherin, still slightly confused, reached up to wipe above his lip. Red blood was smeared on his fingers when he pulled them back.

And, with everything still silent in anticipation, Regulus looked back to the Gryffindors. They all looked rather surprised, and Fawley looked  _ furious _ .

But that narcissistic, dark,  _ stupid _ part of Regulus whispered in his head.  _ Fight back _ . It was the horcrux. Regulus  _ knew _ it was the horcrux. It wasn’t him, he could just ignore it, it was just the horcrux—

“My  _ mother _ hits harder than you, Fawley.”

_ God, Regulus, why would you say that? You idiot. You idiot. Why would you— _

There was yelling when Fawley rammed the end of his broomstick straight into Regulus’ gut, almost knocking him off his own broom. The Slytherin managed to twist so he didn’t fall, choking from the sudden lack of air in his lungs.

(  _ There was slime between his fingers, and water in his throat, and hands on his skin. He couldn’t breath— he couldn’t  _ **_breath_ ** _. _ )

“Blimey, Preston! Are you trying to kill him?” Potter exclaimed, forcing his player back as Regulus gagged and coughed.

Magnus slapped his back, but Regulus couldn’t find his voice to tell him that it was only making it worse. Dakota looked half ready to knock Fawley off  _ his _ broom.

“Is this your tactic? Murder our players so we lose the game?” Emma questioned incredulously.

“He kind of asked for it,” Longbottom inputted, and Emma’s glare zeroed in on him next.

“Fawley threw the first insult  _ and _ the first punch,” Dakota snapped back.

“And Black egged him on. He didn’t  _ have _ to be such a prick,” Potter replied.

“Just get off our bloody field before you cause any more harm! You Gryffindors can’t last  _ two seconds _ out of the spotlight, can you? You’ll have your game with the badgers soon enough. You can punch all the players you want  _ then _ ,” Emma said.

Practice ended soon after the Gryffindors had left with sour faces, mostly because the fun had left the field. Regulus didn’t bother going to the Hospital Wing, since Fawley really  _ did _ hit weaker than his mother. His nose wasn’t even fractured.

The three Slytherins sat in the Common Room, Dakota and Magnus clearly having something to say about the whole ordeal. Regulus was slumped into the emerald green couch by the fireplace, his friends having not taken a seat yet.

“Just say it,” Regulus sighed when they didn’t speak up. “Whatever you want to say, just say it.”

“Why did you have to be such a prick?” Dakota questioned first, crossing her arms. “Sure, Fawley started it, but what you said was just plain disrespectful.”

The Black heir didn’t really have a reason he could offer.  _ I’ve been sleeping with a horcrux under my pillow and it’s plaguing my mind with dark magic. Sorry, I guess. _

When he didn’t give an answer Magnus slapped his shoulder. “Hey!” Magnus said sternly, trying to gain his attention.

Regulus looked up, looking all too tired to get into an argument. “What?”

Magnus’ eyebrows furrowed with an expression somewhere between annoyance, disappointment and concern. Regulus hated that look. Actually, he despised it. He was all too familiar with people being disappointed in him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” his curly-haired friend started. “Snapping in anger, being a prick and then just saying sorry as if it never really happened? It’s not  _ like you _ , Regulus.”

_ It’s the horcrux! _ he wanted to yell, but the words were trapped in his throat. He couldn’t tell them—  _ he couldn’t _ . He trusted his friends, more than he had trusted Rosier and Avery in seventh year, but they were still 15 years old. Regulus might  _ look _ like a fifth-year, but his mind was eighteen years old. His friends wouldn’t understand; wouldn’t know why he did it, why it had to be  _ him _ , why he couldn’t tell anyone else. They’d probably tell him to ask Dumbledore.

_ He trusted Albus Dumbledore in fifth-year as well. _

“You’ve been so out of character recently. We don’t know what to expect. One second you’re secluded and quiet, another you’re joking and smiling, then the next you’re snapping in anger. Fix up your attitude before we lose you to Avery and Rosier again!”

Regulus felt cold at those last words. He wanted to deny it, but he understood how it would look from their perspective. He wouldn’t want his friend to slowly fall back into bad habits and dangerous social circles, either. 

“Lose me?” The question sounded empty and quiet.

Dakota sighed, sending a helpless look to Magnus. “Yes, Regulus, lose you. We thought things had changed…”

“It  _ has _ ,” he insisted.  _ More than you know _ .

“Then why are you acting the way you did before? It’s not healthy to dwell on memories of who you used to be. You’re more than that, Reg.”

( “ _ You’re more than this, Reggie. You’re more than what they’ve made you. Please, just—” _

_ “I know who I am, Sirius. Sorry that it’s not the same person you used to call brother.” _ )

━━━━━━━━━

Moving the horcrux to his locker in the Slytherin changing rooms was more difficult than he had thought it would be.

Regulus’ locker held his broom, uniform and extra items he’d never remembered to bring back to his dorm. It was cleaner than the majority of the others and was organised perfectly. There was a small hatch at the bottom that let him lift the floor of the locker. The tiny hole was small, but it was charmed with an Undetectable Extension charm which meant he could hide all kinds of things in there.

As he was putting the dragon-hide pouch inside, the locket seemed to whisper to him. A dangerous sort of possessiveness bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and it didn’t want to go away.

_ Someone might find me here _ , it whispered.  _ You wouldn’t want anyone else to get their hands on such powerful magic, would you? The only way you know I’ll be safe is if you keep me with you. _

His hand hesitated, and for a moment he thought he might retract his hand and take the horcrux back. But with one final burst of control, he dropped the pouch into the hole.

Regulus couldn’t have it around him anymore. It was driving him insane, and it made everything so much more difficult. Until he knew how to destroy it indefinitely, then he couldn’t have it around him. 

_ And until he found out whether or not he accidentally duplicated the Dark Lord’s soul. _

Shutting the locker door and exiting the changing room, Regulus felt a weight he didn’t realise was there lift. His lungs felt more open all of a sudden, and it didn’t seem as though his head was all that heavy anymore.

He realised, with a tiny proud smile, that the mental act of leaving the horcrux behind mattered more than physically moving it.

(  _ “It’s not healthy to dwell on memories of who you used to be.” _ )

Dakota was right. He wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old he’d been the first time around. He’d died, after all. He’d gotten the Mark, he’d done awful things, he’d experienced regret and pain and guilt and then he’d died doing the thing he knew would make him feel like the boy he used to be; light and innocent and free. 


	4. the bite on above but never would fall in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a reminder that this is not completely canon, and i will be making adjustments to the canonverse in order to build my story. not everything is accurate. also, sorry if james seems like a prick. he's not a bully in his sixth year (since lily kind of knocked some sense into him) but he is still loyal to a fault. i headcanon that he (like most gryffindors) can sometimes be nonsensically protective and defensive. james would do anything for those he loves, which is why he's a prick to regulus (he thinks he's protecting sirius).

“Sirius, c’mon. You’ve been moping around all evening,” James said, falling down onto the couch and resting his head on said boy’s lap. 

The four marauders were hanging around the Gryffindor common room, hogging the couch like they always did. Remus was sitting on the floor by Sirius’ feet, reading his most recently borrowed library book. Peter was laying on his stomach, brushing the end of his quill against his jaw as he concentrated on the homework laid before him. Sirius had been the only one actually sitting on the couch like a  _ normal person _ , until James had splayed himself across his lap.

Sirius made no comment, glancing down to his friend who stared up at him with a goofy, expectant smile. James frowned at the lack of reaction, but persisted nonetheless.

“Is it because I skipped lunch with Lily without telling you?”

There was silence from the older Gryffindor once again, and James’ eyebrows scrunched.  _ So not that _ .

“Is it because I stole your last pair of clean socks and McGonnagal took points off for wearing bright pink ones?”

Nope.

“Erm… because I knocked over that plant you were trying to grow?”

When James couldn’t think of anything else he’d done that would annoy Sirius Black into silence, he dropped the goofy act. He sat up, tugging his friend’s arm so that he would look him in the eye. The boy resisted the attempt.

“Hey, seriously Padfoot, what’s wrong?” he asked, lowering his voice so nobody else could hear what he was saying. 

Sirius averted his gaze, finding the dirt beneath his nails more interesting. James chewed the inside of his cheek and adjusted his glasses; a nervous habit he’d had ever since he was a kid.

“It’s your brother, isn’t it?”

The small nod in response made James whine. “Aw, shit. Sorry, mate. I know I shouldn’t have pushed it that far, but he was being a slimy  _ git _ , okay?”

Sirius sighed, seeming like he finally had something to comment on. “I’m not angry at you, Prongs, it’s just…” he paused, brows scrunching as he tried to figure out how to translate his thoughts to words. “Doesn’t he seem a bit  _ off _ to you?”

And  _ that _ made James’ eyes widen. Because… wait  _ what _ ?

“Since when did you care?” he questioned, his tone almost concerned.

The dog animagus sighed again, shoulders slumping in defeat as he dropped the silent-treatment completely. “You heard Preston Fawley, right? Regulus isn’t hanging around Rosier’s little sister and that Avery bloke anymore. I’ve seen him walk in with that blonde chic and latino like  _ everyday _ and— and he’s  _ laughing _ . You’ve seen it right?”

James stared a bit dumbfounded for a second. “I haven’t… really paid attention.”

“Well— well he is. He’s acting  _ happy _ and it’s fucking weird.”

Sirius ran a hand through his long hair, knee bouncing with energy. Remus shuffled away from his feet and grumbled, annoyed by the movement.

“Didn’t he shout at them just the other week?” the stag animagus asked incredulously.

“Yeah, but… that was weird too, right? I mean— he looks tired.  _ Exhausted _ . I get that he’s got O.W.L’s this year, but he’s not the type to let people see how stressed he is. That’s just— that’s just not him.”

Peter clicked his tongue from where he lay, pointing the end of his quill towards Sirius with a thoughtful expression. “You seem oddly interested in your brother all of a sudden. Don’t you hate each other?”

“Wh—” Sirius looked embarrassed for a moment, before remembering that he was a Marauder (and Marauders were  _ never _ embarrassed). “Of course we hate each other, he’s a stuck up little shit!”

“Then what’s with all the concern?” Remus keyed in, eyes still trailing across the pages of his book. Something about Ancient Runes (as if James cared).

Sirius grumbled when he couldn’t come up with a viable answer. He slouched down in the cushions beneath him, arms folding across his chest and lips pulling into a pout. “He’s just acting weird, and I wanna know why.”

James shrugged in a  _ ‘fair enough’ _ way, a hand ruffling his already messy hair. “You think it might be your parents?” he asked offhandedly.

(  _ “My mother hits harder than you, Fawley.” _ )

A loud snort came from the dog animagus in response. “What, life as the Black heir not all he thought it would be? It must be  _ awfully _ hard being mummy and daddy’s favourite son.”

“It could be,” said Peter, as if he couldn’t hear the obvious sarcasm on Sirius’ tongue.

“Just think about it,” Remus continued before Sirius could object. He was on a similar train of thought as Peter, and clearly their Pureblood friends hadn’t fully caught on yet. “He grows up being the second son; only there in case something happens to the first heir in line. Then when he’s — what,  _ thirteen _ ? — his older brother runs away from home. The wizarding world is in the middle of the war, he no longer has his brother’s company at home, he’s in  _ third year _ and now his parents expect him to carry on the Black family line.”

Sirius frowned indignantly. “I had to live with those expectations since I was born!”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, Padfoot,” Remus sighed. “But you lived every second of your lift denying that they existed. You didn’t try to fulfill those expectations, you didn’t agree with your parents’ beliefs, in fact you tried to prove quite the opposite in everything you did. From what I can tell and what you’ve told me about him, Regulus can’t just ignore those expectations. He’s grown up pliant and obedient his whole life, so he can’t just change his mind now. You parents wouldn’t allow it.”

“I can’t believe you’re picking his side!”

“I’m not  _ picking sides _ , I’m trying to give some  _ perspective _ .”

James understood that, but he couldn’t help but feel defensive on behalf of Sirius. “I reckon he  _ deserves _ it.”

“Do you now?” Peter prompted. He sent a  _ ‘can you believe him?’ _ expression towards Remus who rolled his eyes playfully. “Why might he deserve it?”

“Well… well he’s a slimy Slytherin,” James replied, as if that meant anything.

“You know, for all you talk about how people unfairly stereotype Gryffindors as arrogant buffoons, you sure stereotype Slytherins a lot,” said Remus. He smirked when James and Sirius gaped.

“Moony, don’t tell me you like the  _ snakes _ now!” Sirius exclaimed, dropping onto the floor next to the werewolf. He clung onto his arm like a small child begging for attention and Remus rolled his eyes once again. “Next think you know, he’ll have a crush of Snivellus!”

“I’m merely stating that just because someone is sorted into Slytherin, it doesn’t automatically make them a git,” he shrugged, wincing when Sirius hugged his arm tighter.

“I can’t believe you’d betray your own house like that,” said James.

Remus chuffed out a laugh, grabbing a pillow from the couch behind him and throwing it at his pureblood friend. James looked startled for a moment before grinning maniacally.

“Oh sh— wait, no  _ wait James no _ —”

The werewolf’s words went unnoticed as James grabbed the nearest pillow and slammed it over Remus’ head. He raised his arms, attempting to shield himself from the attacks, but it became useless when Sirius joined in too.

“You’re going to regret that, Moony!”

Peter laughed as his friends continued their aggressive pillow-bashing, wrestling match. He made sure to move his homework away so they didn’t end up tearing it (which had happened too many times to count on his hands and feet).

And in their laughter and begs for mercy, the Marauders forgot all about Regulus Black.

━━━━━━━━━

“And Goldenheart two-point-oh has the quaffle!” Denver Carson, the sixth-year commentator, yelled into the microphone. 

Regulus didn’t understand why he had to  _ shout _ , since the microphone was there for a  _ reason _ . His eardrums were going to explode with how damn loud Carson’s voice was.

“Blimey, Yaxley is not playing nice anymore! It’s okay, Martin is back up. Close call there and—  _ one hell of a save by Dune! _ ”

_ Shut up _ , Regulus wanted to shout. He couldn’t focus on finding the damn snitch with Carson’s voice shouting all the time. The Slytherin seeker hovered somewhere above the Gryffindor stands, doing his slow loops of the field from his high-point. He knew that Ravenclaw’s seeker sat slightly lower above their own house stands.  _ Typical _ , he thought with a roll of his eyes.

“And now Goldenheart number one has the quaffle —  _ ouch _ , that looks like it hurt — and now the quaffle is with Flint and — oh, oh,  _ oh _ , did you see that shot! 10 points to Slytherin!”

Regulus allowed a small, smug grin to pull at his lips for only a second before he smothered it once again. The game had been going for 20 minutes already, and he’d only seen the Snitch once. It had disappeared as soon as he’d spun into a dive, though, and Ravenclaw’s seeker hadn’t seemed to notice. He thought he’d seen it a second time, but it turned out to only be a Ravenclaw’s wristwatch (since apparently they were  _ dumb _ and didn’t think to ban them during matches like the Slytherins had).

His toes were beginning to go numb, and he tapped them against the back of his broom to make the blood rush through them again. Like usual, Regulus’ hair was pulled back into his small ponytail and bobby pins were set just above his ears to keep his fringe back. It wasn’t a very warm day, to his relief, and the wind nipped at his cheeks.

“Serena Davies is going to hell on those bludgers,” Carson laughed, and Regulus could hear a dirty joke coming on. “I wonder how hard she can go in—”

The quiet  _ “Carson!” _ barely picked up on the mic, but the crowd roared with laughter anyway.

It was at that moment when a glint of golden light caught his eye, a tiny speck against the ocean of students. He almost lost it again when it glimmered around behind the Hufflepuff stand, but it appeared towards the top only a second later.

He drifted his way over, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible since Ravenclaw’s seeker, Oliver Page, was closer at that point. Fortunately, his opposition had been circling towards the goal posts. Regulus waited only a moment longer, eyes still glued on the golden ball, while he waited for that distance to grow.

And then he was  _ off _ .

His hair flew wildly, and for a second he thought the hair tie might fall out. But he couldn’t pay it mind. The only thing that mattered was the snitch. He was closing in, but it was flying away already, as if it knew he was coming.

It whizzed down close to the ground, still near the Hufflepuff stands, before flying straight into the middle of the field.  _ Goddamn it _ , Regulus thought.  _ That was the worst possible spot for it to go _ .

But he chased it anyway, trying to dodge the passing players while keeping his eye on the snitch. People began to notice his sudden activity, and noise rose in the crowd.

“Black has spotted the snitch! That’s baby Black by the way, not the Gryffindor one.”

Regulus scowled, cheeks burning at the name.  _ Baby Black _ . Seriously?

He narrowly dodged a bludger that had been sent his way by Davies, spinning upside-down so that it didn’t wack him in the head. He was in the middle of the pitch by that point, and the snitch was moving against the current of chasers; both green and blue. 

He decided he  _ really, really _ hated this damn snitch.

Regulus caught Magnus’ eye as he was passing; a determined glint reflecting back at him. There was a small agreement exchanged;  _ you get the snitch, we’ll keep the upper hand. _

The problem was that Oliver Page had seen the snitch too now. Regulus had two options since he was in the lead; feint a dive to knock Page out of commission for a moment to catch the snitch, or stay on his trajectory and risk being overtaken.

There was an obvious answer to that. Page may be a smart Ravenclaw, but he was awfully gullible. If Regulus feinted a dive for the snitch, he would follow. To his joy, the snitch began rising into the air. Regulus followed suit with Page not far behind.

He waited until he was almost at the Ravenclaw goal post before he dropped into a dive. 

The crowd “woahed” as he sped towards the ground, Page following behind despite the snitch still flying upwards. His dive spiralled, eyes focused so that he wouldn’t go dizzy from all the spinning.

“Is Baby Black gonna pull up?” exclaimed Carson, but Regulus brushed it off.

_ One more second. _

He wasn’t too far away from the ground now, green closing in around him.

“He’s gonna splat!”

_ One more second. _

“C’mon Black,” Page yelled from behind him, egging him on. Regulus could only smirk.

_ One more _ —

And then he was pulling up, inches from the ground. His feet pushed back on the crossbars, arms drawing the front of the broom upwards and out of the dive. He leaned to the right, spinning back around as Page exclaimed in shock and almost rammed into the ground.

“Page was deceived by Baby Black’s feint and— oh shit, Martin lost the quaffle to Vanity—”

Regulus wasted no time, eyes scanning the sky quickly. The snitch hovered tauntingly high above the middle of the pitch. He smirked.

He was flying up to the snitch in no time. When he was this high, he didn’t have to worry about running into chasers. The golden ball fluttered higher, forcing him further into the clouds.

The Slytherin seeker could hear Page trying to catch up behind him, but it wasn’t close enough for him to be worried.

Even through the blur of the clouds, the snitch glittered brightly. It was so close now that Regulus reached his hand out, pressing forward on his broom.

_ Just a bit more _ .

His hand shook, mere inches from the fluttering wings of the snitch. His eyebrows furrowed as the tips of his fingers faded to grey. A line of fire burned a path across his palm, making him hiss. His nails became a dark purple and even through the gloves, Regulus could see his veins bleeding with a murky green.

The sight almost made him falter, the green reminding him of a cave and a basin filled with a  _ green potion— _

There was a cold pressure in his palm before he even realised what was happening.

When he pulled his hand towards himself and unclenched his fingers slightly, the golden wings of the glitch waved through the gaps between them. A familiar glow of pride filled his throat.

_ He’d caught the snitch. _

Closing his fist again, Regulus stopped pushing forward on his broom.

He tipped backwards, broom plummeting towards the ground as he let himself drop into a free-fall. Page gaped when he passed him, looking confused as to what was happening. When he broke through the clouds, the crowds on the stands became louder. His body continued falling, snitch pressed firmly in his palm.

“Holy shit, Baby Black’s  _ really _ gonna splatter—”

But before that could become true, he rolled upright and swooped down past the commentator’s stand, presenting the golden snitch he’d caught.

“Regulus Black has caught the snitch! That means—  _ Slytherin wins! _ ”

The roar of the crowd was almost deafening in Regulus’ ears, but he found himself smiling nonetheless. When he neared the centre of the pitch, Magnus almost ran into him when trying to ruffle his hair.

And while the Slytherin team cheered their praises and rejoiced, Regulus numbly remembered the sight of his hand when he was reaching for the snitch.

He raised his palm to his face again, brows furrowing when he saw that the green-veins and purple nails had gone. Instead, there was a long, raw scar slicing from his pointer finger to his wrist.

The same cut he’d made to provide the blood sacrifice when stealing the horcrux. The same cut he’d made to provide the blood sacrifice  _ three years from now _ .

━━━━━━━━━

The congratulations from other house members barely registered as the Slytherin team made their way to the changing rooms. Everything seemed to pass by in a dream-like blur; the pats on his back making him flinch, cheers of praise sounding far, far away, his thoughts muted and heartbeat loud.

All he could think of was the scar.  _ The scar, the scar, the scar _ .

It shouldn’t be there— it  _ wasn’t there _ until he’d caught the snitch. When he’d gone to the past, his body was his 15-year-old form again, free of the scars he’d earned in the next three years. 

_ He shouldn’t have that scar _ .

Magnus was pressed to his side and Dakota had her arm linked with his but Regulus couldn’t find the ability to be happy with them. His fingers tingled and there was a vague feeling of sore muscles after such sharp turns on his broom. His legs were probably bruised. Maybe. Possibly. He didn’t know, he couldn’t think because—

_ He shouldn’t have that scar. _

It was only when a particular voice registered in Regulus’ ears that he broke out of his blurry daze.

“That was a nice dive back there, Baby Black.”

It was Sirius. Regulus flinched, heart stuttering beneath the bones of his ribcage.

Sirius just spoke to him. _ Sirius spoke to him. Why did Sirius speak to him? _

(  _ He shouldn’t have that scar. _ )

He only then realised that they were just outside the changing rooms, the rest of the Slytherin team having already gone in to shower.

The Gryffindor stood with his friends, lips stretched into a smile that Regulus couldn’t pinpoint the meaning behind. Was it a genuine smile or a mocking smirk? Potter looked mildly grumpy but that was probably since Regulus’ flying had knocked his ego down a few pegs. Remus looked mildly disinterested, albeit smiling smally. Pettigrew looked slightly bitter. 

It was Dakota who spoke up first. “What do you want, Black?” 

Sirius’ expression instantly faltered, and Regulus thought for a second that maybe the smile  _ had _ been genuine. That was until his eyes darkened and lips tightened at the corners. “What, can’t he speak for himself?”

“When it comes to you four, your intention is usually only to throw insults. So? What do you want?”

Regulus probably should have told Dakota about how he was going to try and reconcile with his brother. Magnus knew, he  _ encouraged _ it even. But Dakota? She probably still thought he was being a prick… 

“Hey, he was being  _ nice— _ ” James tried to defend.

“Can we not do this right now?” Regulus cut in quietly, mind still ringing with the image of the scar across his palm.  _ Red. Closed, but raw. As if it had been made and healed just a second ago _ .

Sirius’ eyes snapped from Dakota to Regulus, graphite meeting mercury. Remus shifted on his feet, weary of a foreshadowing argument. He subtly tugged at the back of Sirius’ white dress shirt, trying to signal for him to  _ not push it _ .

“Oh, not a good time for you?” James taunted with a tilt to the head.

Regulus could honestly admire how protective James is of his friends but  _ Merlin _ , he could be thick sometimes. It seemed that he would do anything for those he cared about. It didn’t matter about the logic, defending his friends was the only thing that mattered. He’d even be a complete  _ prick _ for his friends. Admirable, but  _ thick _ .

“No, it’s not. Can I just go—”

“What? You got plans with good old  _ Voldemort _ that you gotta get to, Baby Black?”

For a moment, the Slytherin boy only saw black. It wasn’t red like the books described, it wasn’t a sudden rage. It was just black. As if he’d been struck over the head by a blunt object. Shadows bled around his eyes and suddenly the only thing he saw was Potter’s smug grin. 

“You better shut up, man.”

It was Magnus who spoke, gripping the sleeve of his uniform to stop him from lunging at the Gryffindor. There was a rare, cold edge to his voice that Regulus hadn’t heard in a while. It sounded odd and uncomfortable in his ears.

“Why, what are you gonna do?” And that was Peter jumping to defend his friend as well.  _ Bloody Gryffindors and their nonsensical loyalty _ .

“You don’t walk away right now and you’ll find out  _ exactly _ what we’re gonna do,” Dakota smirked.

The tops of Regulus’ ears tingled, knees suddenly feeling weak.

Sirius sized her up. “Big words for a cowardly Slyt—”

“Merlin, can you all just  _ shut up! _ ” Regulus yelled, making the bickering group falter slightly.

( His fingers were shaking, and he clenched them tightly. )

Remus looked to him gratefully, but the Slytherin didn’t make any sign that he saw it.

Regulus could have said a million things in that moment, and his throat tightened with unspoken words.

_ I don’t want to fight anymore, Sirius. Please, can we stop fighting. _

_ You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through. _

_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _

_ Why did you have to leave, Sirius? Why did you have to ruin everything? _

_ Let me make it up to you— _

( “Promise me, Sirius? Promise me you won’t leave me behind?” )

_ Why did you have to break our promise? How could you— _

He could feel his fingers start to quiver as he clenched them into a tight fist, tongue feeling heavy in the back of his mouth.

“Thanks for the compliment, Sirius. We’re going now.”

And with that (slightly disappointing) announcement, Regulus was turning on his heel and dragging his two friends into the changing rooms. The Marauders could barely object, and Sirius seemed half startled by the sound of his name on Regulus’ tongue.

Most of the Slytherin team had already headed off to the showers, but Regulus couldn’t bring himself to care as he pressed his forehead against a locker door. His skin burned and his shirt clung to his back from the sudden sweat that bubbled on his skin. 

( _ “Promise me, Sirius? Promise me you won’t leave me behind?”  _ )

His ribcage ached as his heart stuttered violently, pushing at the bars of bones. There were jagged claws scraping against the dips of his collarbones, down divots of his spine. He found himself squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he possibly could, trying to block out the— the  _ everything _ around him. His hands clenched over his ears, nails digging into his hair.

(  _ He shouldn’t have that scar. _ )

Nobody was talking but the silence felt so loud that he whimpered.  _ Shut up, shut up. _ He didn’t know what he wanted to shut up but he needed it to stop  _ now _ .

Regulus’ skin flushed cold and then hot again, despite the breeze bringing a fresh chill into the changing rooms. He was having a panic attack. He was having a—  _ was he _ ? This had happened before but he didn’t know if it could be called an  _ attack _ . It wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t that bad,  _ it wasn’t that bad— _

“Regulus?”

There was a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off with a whine of complaint. He didn’t want physical contact, he didn’t want noise, he didn’t want sight or smell or  _ anything _ .

(  _ He shouldn’t have that scar. _ )

His throat constricted, and this time he didn’t battle for another short breath. Instead, he let the familiar pressure build up between his temples and surrendered to the feeling of control. He was in control, he made the decisions here, _ he had the control _ . 

Regulus just wanted it to stop, for time to pause. For everything to stop existing, for him to stop existing.  _ Stop, stop, stop stop stopstopstopstop— _

When the pressure and darkness started to feel like he was trapped under the weight of the lake and the skeletal hands pressed further into his skin, he finally opened his mouth for a desperate gasp of air. His ribcage heaved, eyes clearing and mind burning a sharp white.

The locker door was soothing against Regulus’ forehead, but the fire under his skin had finally faded and he shivered from the breeze. His hands were trembling as he slowly moved them from where they’d been clasped over his ears, pressing against the locker. His fingertips stung from the cold.

“Regulus?”

The question was whispered and quiet, and Regulus breathed with it.

“You alright?”

That was Magnus. Regulus could feel his wavering presence behind him, solid yet hesitant.

And despite the trembling in his hands and sporadic beats of his heart, he nodded his affirmation. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of lake water. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

When he turned around, Magnus was looking at him with a concerned frown. His brown eyes sparkled despite the dull lighting of the changing rooms, and his chocolate coloured curls were tangled haphazardly from the previous quidditch match. Dakota stood slightly behind him, her milky skin flushed pink at the cheeks, an effect from her shouting at Sirius. 

“Are you sure? You just had a… well it looked like a panic attack or something,” said Magnus, head dipping to the side as if educating a small child. Regulus didn’t like that look, but he knew his friend wasn’t trying to patronise him.

He hid his shaking hands in his pockets and forced a grin. “It was nothing, don’t worry. We’re not gonna let my brother ruin our win, are we?”

His friends both frowned but understood that pushing it wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Dakota sighed, turning to her locker. “Well, I don’t know about you but I need a long, hot shower.”

Magnus looked slightly disappointed about the redirection in the conversation but nodded anyway. The pair of them grabbed their clothes to change into and headed off the shower rooms.

Regulus was left alone, shoulders shuddering with every breath. He swallowed, bringing his hand out to see if the scar was still there; to check that it wasn’t all his imagination.

The pink streak glared back at him, slightly less raw-looking as it had been before. The agitation of his skin had calmed down, and the redness had paled to a milky blush. 

But it was still  _ there _ , and the implications made Regulus’ heart quiver again.


	5. like a crane at the final breath that is drawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is... an intense chapter lmao. im sorry??? also i keep shitting on james and i swear i love him, this is just him shown in his absolute worst light (sorry to all the james stans out there). his redemption will come i promise <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy oh boy, i am SO SORRY for my long absence. first of all, i've had a really shitty past couple of months in terms of mental health. and thats... to put mildly. a lot of shit has been happening mentally and it's therefore been really difficult to find motivation and inspiration. it's kind of hard to write when you're feeling numb all the time. because of that, i can't say that my updates will be very frequent at all.
> 
> im also writing another reg-centric / harry-centric fic at the moment and im having lots of fun with it. ive been experimenting with a much more formal writing style??? idk its just more professional, and so that other fic has quite a different tone to it. because of that, its kind of hard transitioning between the two for me.
> 
> anyway, enough excuses. hope u enjoy the chapter :)
> 
>   
> if you like this work of mine, you might want to check out another one!  
> [it’s always summer under the sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25358863#main)   
> (regulus black, walburga black, mentioned sirius black: child abuse, angst, hurt no comfort)
>
>> Some days were easier, like when mother chose to simply pretend he wasn’t there. Regulus felt loneliest on those days, but at least his bones didn’t ache. 

Throughout the next few days, while Slytherin continued to rejoice in their win, more scars appeared.

They hurt more than the one on his hand had, and constantly stung as if salt water had been poured over them. Regulus’ body was soon scattered with them. 

The worst was a trio of scars that stretched from his sixth left rib, down across his stomach and ended finally at the jut of his right hip bone. When it had appeared, Regulus had been sleeping. Unlike the others, it bled.

As soon as the burning had started, Regulus had run to the bathroom and watched as the scars tore through his flesh from the claws of an invisible inferi. He’d almost cried from the pain, shoulders shuddering as he sat under the warm water of the shower; blood circling the drain. 

That was the most painful, but not the last.

Most of them circled his ankles and calves, an awfully painful one right down the soft arch of his right foot. Numerous thin ones littered the flesh of his thighs. There were no more than six across his back; the longest starting at the nape of his neck and ending at the second-last bump of his spine, the shortest only four inches long across his shoulder blade. One arched around his left collarbone, only just able to be hidden under the collar of his shirt. 

Seeing them made him realise just how fucked he’d been when the inferi had started tearing at his flesh. Luckily, there were no obvious ones on his hands or face. A small one curled around the back of his ear and stopped just below his jaw, but his hair covered it mostly. Other than the self-inflicted scar across his right palm, there were only a few white scars that nicked his knuckles and wrists.

All in all, Regulus’ body now looked horrific.

It was an average Thursday morning — Regulus slightly exhausted after Wednesday’s midnight Astronomy lesson — when a familiar black owl amongst a sea of fluttering wings came swooping down to land on his shoulder. 

He’d flinched at first, before noticing the silver envelope in its grasp. _Silver envelope — that meant mother had news._

The thought of his parents had barely even crossed his mind since he’d arrived in the past. Besides the first freak out over the thought of going back to Grimmauld place and having to play along with his mother’s ideals, Regulus didn’t think about them much after. 

Now, looking at the shiny, silver envelope, panic clasped its cold hands around his stuttering heart. He couldn’t remember what it had said the first time, since his memory of letters from fifth-year weren’t particularly high on his list of priorities.

He closed his sketchbook that he’d been doodling in, tucking the pencil behind his ear. Regulus tried to not make his shaking hands too obvious as he collected the letter and offered a treat to the owl. It made a content squark before flapping its wings heavily and flying back out of the Great Hall. 

Magnus bumped his shoulder into Regulus’ nodding towards the letter while taking a large bite out of a blueberry muffin. “Your mother?” he questioned through a mouthful of food.

He exhaled shakily before rolling his shoulders. _I can’t get all nervous over a stupid letter,_ Regulus thought. He opened the letter carefully, sighing in relief that it wasn’t a howler (even though he knew Sirius was the only one to ever open a howler in front of the school out of the two of them).

Regulus opened the pale green paper, wincing at the first words. His mother had never been one for pleasantries.

> _Regulus Arcturus,_
> 
> _Your father and I expect to see you home for these Christmas holidays. In light of upcoming events, we must confirm that you are meeting our expectations and haven’t been corrupted by those dreadful peers of yours; Flint and Sinclair. You should know that there has been interesting word from the Rosiers and Averys about these past weeks. You will be sure to provide a good excuse for these false rumours when we see you again._
> 
> _W. I. Black,_
> 
> _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

“Reg? _Regulussss?_ ”

( _‘In light of upcoming events—’_ )

The pale boy looked up to his friend. “Huh?”

Dakota and Magnus shared a look. “We asked what it says,” his blonde friend explained.

He swallowed. “Uh, it’s just… mother expects me back for Christmas.”

“Really? How come she let you stay back last year?”

“She didn’t really mind much after my first year but… apparently she wants to _check in_ to make sure I haven’t taken after my brother,” said Regulus.

( _‘In light of upcoming events—’_ )

His sixteenth birthday was in June. That was why his mother needed to see him. His sixteenth— his _recruitment_.

( _‘Upcoming events—’_ )

“Why now?” Magnus questioned with scrunched brows.

“I don’t know,” Regulus lied, feeling metal on his tongue.

( _‘Upcoming events—’_ )

Regulus didn't know what to do. He couldn’t— he couldn’t _go back_ . Not to that place, not to where he swore he wouldn’t go again. Not to the house he left behind, not to the building he used to call home. _Used to_ , because it wasn’t a home anymore.

Once upon a time, his bedroom in Grimmauld place had been a safeplace; where he felt secure, where he felt comfortable. Regulus didn’t have a place like that anymore. He didn’t have a room that was just _his_ , just _Regulus’_ . His dorm was shared, it wasn’t private, it wasn’t personal, it wasn’t his own. And Grimmauld place— Grimmauld place could never really be a _safeplace_ to anybody. It bled dark magic, carpets soaked with blood and secrets. It wasn’t his home.

( Regulus can’t remember the last time he really felt _at home_. )

But if he couldn’t go back to Grimmauld place then where _could_ he go?

Magnus and Dakota’s parents would never let him step and foot in the house, let alone stay for the whole Christmas holidays. They may see him as a friend, but their parents would never be able to look past his last name. He was a _Black_ , and Blacks didn’t have anything close to a good reputation. They were powerful, they were strong, they were noble and ancient and pure, but they were _dark_. One of the darkest magical families in the world.

So his friends were off the table. Who else could he—

No.

_No, Regulus that was a dumb idea. Why would you ever think of going to Sirius? He doesn’t even live by himself, he’s with the Potters. As if James fucking Potter would ever let you into his house, Regulus. You idiot—_

But he had no other choice, did he?

_Just go back home. Just suck it up—_

How could he suck it up? How could he go two whole weeks under the same roof as his parents without snapping?

_Maybe you don’t have to be there for the whole break. Just for a week, prove you’re still the perfect heir they want you to be, then go to Sirius—_

No, not Sirius. He can’t go to Sirius—

_Ask him, you never know. You told yourself you’d make up with him, right? Maybe this could be the thing that heals your broken—_

“Fuck,” Regulus mumbled, head falling into his hands and pencil almost falling from behind his ear.

“Wha?” was Magnus’ mumbled response as he bit into a scone.

“I can’t do this— I can’t go back there, not anymore.”

Dakota and Magnus shared an apprehensive look. The brunette swallowed his food, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “What… what are you thinking right now?”

Regulus sighed, pushing his head back up. “That I can’t go back there? I don’t _know_. I just— there’s this really strong feeling against going back, like a gut feeling.”

“Then don’t,” Dakota shrugged, flicking a pale blonde strand of hair behind her shoulder. She’d recently got a seventh-year Ravenclaw with a steady hand to trim it, but it still reached all the way down to her belly-button. Regulus didn’t understand how she could deal with it.

“You say that as if it’s that simple, ‘Kota,” Regulus scoffed. “She’ll think I’ve turned into Sirius if I ask to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. She’ll be suspicious.”

“So stay there for a few days then go to a friend’s house.”

“You _are_ my only friends, and your parents would rather flee to Australia than let me stay for even a day.”

Magnus and Dakota frowned, but only because they knew Regulus was right. They may all be Slytherins, but Blacks had bad reputations among the light and grey magic folk. Only those with dark magic saw that reputation as respectable.

“What about your brother?”

Regulus huffed, head falling back into his arms on the table. His eyes drifted across the Great Hall to where Sirius was trying to fit as many scones into his mouth as physically possible. _What an idiot_.

“The Potters took him in.”

“And?”

He made an inderulous expression. “ _And_ , it’s _Potter_. Even if Sirius provided a bit of pity, do you really think the Potters would let in a corrupted Slytherin?”

“They were compassionate enough to take in your brother,” Magnus shrugged. “Maybe you should just ask.”

“ _Ask_?” Regulus exclaimed loudly, as if it was the most preposterous idea he’d ever heard. 

There were a few glances his way at his outburst, but once they looked away again he ducked his head to whisper to his two companions.

“Oh yeah, that’ll go right well, won’t it? _Hey, Potter. I know you hate me and everything but do you reckon you could open your house to me for Christmas holidays so I don’t get murdered by my mother when she realises I’m not her little puppet anymore?_ ” he mimicked. “I’ll get socked in the nose at _best_.”

“Your brother will understand, won’t he?” Dakota questioned. “If you explain the situation, maybe he’ll convince Potter. The only grudge Potter has against you is because of Sirius, so if Sirius is on your side then…”

She trailed off, allowing Regulus to come up with his own conclusion.

_Then you could stay with the Potters for most of the Christmas holidays._

He sighed, chin pressed into his palm lazily and shoulders hunched. _His mother would have a fit if he saw his posture_. “How do I just… how do I make him understand?”

“Be honest. Tell him about the shithole he left you in when he ran away. Tell him how his idea of you is all warped,” Dakota replied flippantly. “You do remember that, right? How he abandoned you?”

 _You mean how_ I _abandoned_ him _. He had to leave— it was my fault he left._

But Dakota and Magnus had never been told the real story on how that night went. So, instead of correcting her, Regulus simply hummed.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Reg.”

And with that, Dakota swung her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the Great Hall. Magnus and Regulus watched as her hair swung smoothly behind her, winter robes brushing her ankles.

Sirius doesn’t deserve _him_ ? More like he didn’t deserve _Sirius_.

“Just ask, okay?” said Magnus, offering a sympathetic smile before following Dakota out of the hall.

━━━━━━━━━

Magnus’ suggestion was how Regulus ended up confronting Sirius after Friday’s classes. It was stupid, really, and he didn’t have half an idea of what he was doing. But in that moment, that impulsive moment, Regulus had a mission.

( _“Just ask, okay?”_ )

Just ask. _Just ask_. Just go up to him, tell him that mother wants him back for Christmas and that he can’t, tell him he doesn’t know where to stay, wait for Sirius to offer his help.

Everything would go according to plan. (As if he actually _had_ a plan).

Regulus found the Marauders in the Eastern courtyard, Potter and Pettigrew charming a fiery red spark back and forth like a tennis ball. Lupin sat on one of the benches and Sirius was splayed over his lap lazily, tie looking like it was ready to fall off.

Potter noticed him first, and Sirius almost fell off Remus’ lap when he saw him as well. It must have been a suspicious sight, since Regulus probably looked half crazy as he stormed towards them. Pettigrew vanished the spark they’d been throwing around when he realised his opposition had stopped playing. 

“Oi,” said Potter, placing a hand to Regulus’ chest before he could move any closer to his brother.

He looked down at the Gryffindor’s hand, the fingers splayed and tips touching Regulus’ bare collarbones. The pad of his index finger brushed along the tissue of one of his new inferi scars. He resisted the urge to flinch. “I just want to talk to Sirius.”

“I thought you didn’t have any time for us. You had your chance, remember? After the match. You and your lofty friends blew it,” Potter replied coolly.

( _“Can we not do this right now?”_

 _“Oh, not a good time for you?”_ )

“Sorry, I was a bit emotionally preoccupied at the time. Can I just—”

Regulus tried pushing past the human-barrier that Potter and Pettigrew had formed, glaring up at the tallest Gryffindor of the two. What were they, bodyguards?

Before he could argue his defence, Sirius spoke up. “What do you want, Regulus?”

And suddenly his chest felt stiff with a numbing cold. 

Potter eased to the side, offering a questioning glance to his friend who nodded his consent. _Because apparently Regulus needed to be_ welcomed _in like it was some bloody club_.

Meeting the cool steel of Sirius’ eyes filled Regulus with something akin to nostalgia. The type of nostalgia one experienced when they recalled something they had lost and missed dearly. Because he _had_ lost Sirius. And _Merlin_ did he miss him.

( _He had to leave— it was my fault he left._ )

( _“Just leave, Sirius. Nobody wants you here. You cause too much trouble, you ruin everything. Leave, just leave!”_ )

“I need your help,” Regulus forced out, throat constricting under the hands of ghost inferi.

Sirius scoffed and Potter rolled his eyes. “Oh, this will be rich,” the boy with the glasses commented.

“You need my help?” Sirius repeated, ignoring his friend. A dark brow was quirked incredulously.

Regulus shifted on his feet, wincing at the squeak of wet grass under the soles of his shoes. Instead of attempting to explain (he didn’t trust his voice to remain steady), he thrust the silver envelope he had received the previous day in Sirius’ direction.

His brother frowned curiously, taking the envelope with a slight hesitation. A small glance was shared between the group of Gryffindors before Sirius’ eyes began trailing along the delicate calligraphy written across the page.

“So?” asked Sirius once he was finished reading. “Mummy dearest wants to see her perfect little heir again. How is that my problem?”

The Slytherin resisted the urge to scoff. “ _So_ , I can’t go back.”

Sirius faltered for a second, eyebrows quivering as he fought to keep his composure. A quick glance was sent to Lupin, who subtly shrugged in response. (As if Regulus couldn’t see them, albeit standing _right there_.)

“You can’t go back?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Stop repeating what I say just as a question!”

“Then stop saying things that confuse me!”

Regulus huffed, and Sirius sighed.

Lupin, who had just finished reading the silver letter after Sirius passed it over to him, looked up at Regulus from where he was seated. “What does ‘upcoming events’ mean?”

Regulus sometimes hated Lupin for being so observant.

( ‘ _In light of upcoming events, we must confirm that you are meeting our expectations—’_ )

How could he answer that? How could they understand the shoes he must fill for the betterment of his family? The obligation of securing his blood-line’s safety?

( ‘ _In light of upcoming events—’_ )

“My sixteenth is in June.”

Lupin raised a brow. “And the significance of this specific age _is_ …?”

Regulus breathed, ribs digging into his lungs. 

( ‘ _Upcoming events—’_ )

“Erm… well, it’s a bit difficult to say.”

“How do you expect assistance if you’re not going to explain anything to us?” questioned the sandy-haired boy. It sounded awfully formal for a marauder.

The Slytherin shifted again, suddenly unable to meet his brother’s eye. “Sixteen is… is the age that um…”

“Regulus, you’ve never been one to beat around the bush so please don’t start now,” Sirius deadpanned with a cool tone to his voice.

( _“Be honest.”_ )

“I’m expected to join forces with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” he finally blurted out, intentionally lowering his voice so that no bypassers could hear. “Sixteen is the minimum age of recruitment.”

There was silence, except for the rustle of trees and distant chatter of students. Sirius’ face didn’t make any indication that he had even heard Regulus; eyes flat and lips straight. The other three Gryffindors had tensed.

When nothing was said, his heart clenched with worry. “Say something.”

Nothing.

“ _Please_ , for Merlin’s sake — say something, Sirius.”

Sirius’ blank composure fell, only for his lips to turn into a dark scowl. 

“God- _fucking_ -dammit, Regulus!”

The younger boy flinched so hard that he stumbled. Sirius had raised from the bench, now towering over the small Slytherin. Regulus couldn’t help but notice how similar his brother looked to his mother when he was angry. (Their eyebrows angled inwards in the same way. Their lips pulled more to the right when they scowled).

“Wha—”

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? This is why you made me up-and-leave? Just so you could be the Black heir? So you looked more important in _his_ eyes?”

This was so not according to plan. Abort mission, _abort mission_ —

“Wh— no, Sirius, _no_ —”

“Stop fucking lying, Regulus!” Sirius yelled, neck burning red with rage. (Father’s neck turned red when he shouted as well). “This was all part of your bloody plan, wasn’t it? Make me leave and then everything falls into your hands. That’s why you were so fucking rude, because you were so desperate for me to leave— you wanted this _so bad_.”

“You have no idea what really happened—”

“I have no idea? _I have no idea?_ ” 

Sirius was in his face now. 

“I know what fucking happened. You betrayed me, Regulus. You— you were just faking it the _whole_ _time_.”

( _“You betrayed me.”_ )

The delusions from the lake felt like light dancing across his eyes, like the brush of grass against his ankles.

“ _He_ hurt me and you just fucking watched!”

( _“You were my brother, and you did nothing!”_ )

“And then after that, you told me to leave! You told me I ruined everything! Isn’t that how it went, Regulus? Tell me how it went, if that wasn’t it.”

( _“You remember how it went, Regulus? Remind me what happened.”_ )

“You don’t know the whole of it, Sirius. You just—”

“I just what? _I just what_ ? I just got _beat up_? James knows, he saw. I was passed out from blood-loss on his fucking porch, Regulus. Was that not the ‘whole of it’?”

( _“This is what you get, Regulus. For being a bad brother.”_ )

With each stream of words, Sirius advanced towards his younger brother. Regulus found himself stumbling back. He was cold, _so cold_. His skin felt like ice, despite the growing fire in his belly.

“Sirius—” Lupin tried, but it fell on deaf ears.

“I can’t believe I used to call you my brother!”

Regulus kind of wanted to cry at the sound of those words.

( _“You’re not my brother. You were never my brother. Never will be.”_ )

“Shut up.” His voice was only a whisper, a brush of smoke. He didn’t know who he was even saying it to; Sirius or the memories ringing behind his eyelids? “You don’t know— it was for the family—”

( ‘ _Was.’_ )

Nobody noticed the slip-up, not even Regulus, but Remus’ eyes quirked slightly in suspicion. 

“And to think you had the fucking _audacity_ to ask for my help! After everything you’ve done to me, after you’ve ruined my life!”

( _“This is your fault, everything is always your fault.”_ )

Sirius shoved Regulus back a few paces, and the younger boy brushed his hands away. “Shut up,” he repeated, voice a bit stronger than the first time.

“I bet you’re right dandy with how mother and father have set out your life. You get the praise, you get the power, you get the inheritance, you get the title— what could be _fucking better_?”

( _“It’s your job now, to follow mummy and daddy. You have to be the good son now. You have to follow them and you can’t complain one bit because this is all on you.”_ )

“Shut up.”

“Why can’t you go back, huh? Too many kisses from mummy? Does she pamper you with affection? How awful it must be to be the favourite son.”

Sirius shoved on his shoulders again, and he pushed the hands away roughly. 

Tears burned behind Regulus’ eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Is it just _so damn hard_ to be loved by your parents? Do you not love them back? Do you hate them?”

Before Sirius could shove him again, Regulus pushed his chest as hard as he could.

“I hate _you_!”

The sound of his voice was foreign. He could feel hot tears in his eyes, but they were probably already streaking down his cheeks. His throat felt tight; _so, so tight_ , and a fire roared in his gut.

His brother faltered for a moment, stunned that Regulus had actually fought back. Or maybe it was his words that had stunned him.

“I hate you!” Regulus shouted, shoving him by the shoulders again. “I hate you, I hate you, I _hate you_!”

This was so not according to his plan, but everything was happening so quickly that he didn’t really have the ability to stop himself. The match had been lit, and now they had to watch as everything burned.

“You could _never_ understand what I’ve been through, you _fucking_ _asshole_. You think everything revolves around _you_ , don’t you? Mother beat _you_ , father was disappointed in _you_ , everyone hated _you_ — _Merlin_ , Sirius, you’re not the only one who’s had to stitch themselves up at two-am because mother got a bit out of hand!”

His cheeks were wet with tears, and Sirius looked grey with shock. His three friends looked frozen with horror and confusion. He didn’t blame them. Regulus was confused, too.

“Everything went to shit when you left, Sirius. She’s _always angry_ now. You have _no clue_ what it feels like to be alone in that fucking house, Sirius.”

The Gryffindor choked on his tongue. “You— you still betrayed me, Regulus. That night—”

Regulus’ eyes burned red. “You don’t know shit about that night!” he cried.

It was only once he’d taken a deep breath and allowed the cool air to filter through his lungs, that he realised everything he’d said. _What have I done?_ His cheeks were sticky with the salt from his tears, corners of his eyes stinging.

His eyes fell to Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew, who all wore equally horrified expressions as one another. Sirius— he couldn’t even look at Sirius. 

“You don’t know—” he hiccuped, voice suddenly empty. “You don’t know _shit_.”

The fire was slowly simmering in his belly, and Regulus turned and fled the courtyard before he could say something else he’d regret tomorrow morning.

Everything from that point felt like some sort of out-of-body experience. Like he was floating above water, looking down on himself as his body ran through the halls and locked itself in an abandoned classroom. He knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t hear it. He knew he was shaking, but he couldn’t feel it. He knew he was biting his tongue until it bled, but he couldn’t taste it.

The inside corners of his eyes stung; raw and red. He’d tried to rub the tears away too many times. He could taste the salt that had dripped down to his lips, but not the blood on his tongue. He could hear the clack of his shuddering teeth, but not the pounding of his heart.

His skin felt numb and tingly. His head was too cold, but his skin was too hot. There was sweat on the nape of his neck, matting down his dark hair and prompting shivers through his spine. Everything felt _off_.

He didn’t know which room he was in, but he knew he was curled up in the corner of it. The old, stone walls were cold against his back. He couldn’t tell if he was too hot or too cold, but the sensation was comforting nonetheless.

The familiar pressure of his magic, pushing from behind his bellybutton, helped ground his senses once again. Phosphenes of green and purple swum like dancing spells behind his eyes, a gentle reminder of the power settled beneath his fingertips. The fire in the pit of his stomach had dulled to simmering embers, but the tickle of raw energy still kept him gritting his teeth.

( _“No, really. Is it just so damn hard to be loved by your parents?”_ )

Regulus whimpered pitifully at the realisation of what had just taken place.

Sirius had rejected him; confirmed that the brotherhood they once had was completely and utterly _over_ . There was no more _them_ anymore. Sirius had his family, and Regulus was no longer part of it.

He’s always _known_ that — he’d known it for eighteen fucking years — but now it was… now it was definite. 

Regulus had just ruined any possible chance of him avoiding having to stay at Grimmauld Place for the holidays, while also removing the chance to reconcile with Sirius. It wasn’t an option anymore. Sirius had made sure he knew that he wanted _nothing_ to do with Regulus anymore. He made his place in Sirius’ life clear.

( _“I can’t believe I used to call you my brother!”_ )

The ache between the gaps of his ribs had suddenly grown, the weight of his empty heart _so_ much more obvious than before.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape again. He’d done his crying— _why did he still want to cry?_

The image of Sirius’ face — eyebrows arched, lips pulled into a snarl, eyes full of such _hatred_ — was still burned into the back of Regulus’ eyelids. The hatred that was aimed at _Regulus_ . Because it was _Regulus’_ fault. Because _Regulus_ betrayed him.

 _Why did I ever think I could do this all over again?_ he asked himself. 

_Why did I ever think it wouldn’t end up the same way that it did last time? Me dying alone, with Sirius hating me. Me dying alone, as a coward who could never tell the truth. Me dying alone, because even after I betrayed the Dark Lord and stole his horcrux, I’m still not as brave as Sirius._

_Me dying alone._

━━━━━━━━━

Sirius stood, startled by the events that had just taken place.

His eyes followed Regulus as his younger brother fled the courtyard, robes lapping at his ankles. The boy was crying; Sirius knew because he had seen the tears himself. His brother was crying, and he couldn’t exactly remember why.

He couldn’t recall how it had ended like that.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Sirius resisted the instinctual urge to flinch. It was only James, but the words he’d thrown to his brother (and the ones his brother had thrown back) had mixed his mind up like some sort of Muggle cocktail. Memories of Grimmauld Place and his mother and his father’s disappointed gaze rested only just on the backs of his eyelids.

“Sirius,” James breathed out gently, aware of how shaken his friend was.

The other Gryffindor nodded weakly, unable to make a sound. The act of forming words in the back of his throat felt like too much effort for him.

“You wanna head back to our dorm?”

James always knew what Sirius needed, even when he didn’t know it himself. And at that moment, Sirius desperately needed to get away. He needed to shout or vent or do _something_ , but he couldn’t do it in public. He needed his safespace.

The trip to the Gryffindor common room was quick with how blurry Sirius’ mind was. Peter had left to get “comfort snacks” (his words, not Sirius’) from the kitchens along the way, so when they arrived it was just James and Remus with him.

He barely registered sitting down on his bed and crossing his legs, the mattress beneath him feeling like it was going to just wrap around his body. He almost wished it would.

“What just happened?” Remus questioned, settling behind him.

“I don’t know,” Sirius whispered, not finding the energy to speak properly. A whisper was all he could do at that moment.

James and Remus shared a look over Sirius’ head as he stared attentively at the red and yellow carpet of their dorm. It was suddenly very interesting to him.

“We don’t have to talk about it now, but… we are gonna discuss it, right?” asked James.

Sirius’ finger twitched. “I don’t know what happened…” he repeated dully.

“Well, it started when Regulus began marching over—”

“I know what happened,” Sirius interrupted quickly, “I just don’t know… _how_.”

There was silence as neither of his friends knew what to say. He didn’t blame them. Black family drama didn’t happen often, and when it did it was usually something new and unexpected.

“How did— why—” he stopped when he realised he didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean to shout, I just— I was _so angry_.”

James nodded, patting his knee comfortingly. “And rightfully so. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

For some reason, Sirius doubted that. “But— why did he have to sprout that on me? What was I supposed to— what did he _expect?_ After all the shit that’s happened, he thinks I’m just gonna— _what?_ Apologise for running away?”

“You _never_ have to apologise for that, Sirius,” Remus replied softly. “Never _that_.”

“Then what did he— what did he want? He didn’t even _blame_ me for it, he just— he just said I didn’t understand. What don’t I understand? What—”

“Pads, just breath, alright,” said James.

He tipped Sirius’ head so that his ear was now resting on the taller boy’s shoulder. Sirius sighed, slumping into the dip of his friend’s collarbone. Remus pressed to his opposite side. The dog animagus swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“He said he couldn’t go back,” Sirius said simply. “Why would he say that?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“He said— he said that mother’s worse, that she’s hurt him before. Was he _lying_? Why would she—”

“I don’t know,” the werewolf repeated. “But I think there’s a lot more to this than we know.”

( _“Was”_ , Remus remembers Regulus saying. _“It was for the family”_. As if he’d already taken the Dark Mark—)

“Are you angry at him?” James questioned, adjusting his glasses out of nervous habit.

Sirius made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m angry. Is that— is that wrong? Should I not be?”

“Of course you should be,” James interrupted. “You have every right, remember. He pushed you away first, yeah? Don’t forget that.”

( _“You don’t know shit about that night!”_ )

“What if I’m wrong?” Sirius whispered, scared of the answer. “What if I’ve got this all backwards? I mean— with how weird he’s been acting lately… what if it really _is_ because of his— our parents?”

There was a moment of silence as the other two considered the question.

“Then I say he deserves it,” said James. 

Remus sighed, shaking his head slightly. “James—”

“No, really,” the stag animagus said quickly, sending an honest look to his werewolf friend. “Regulus pushed Sirius out his own home, he’s never stood up on behalf of Sirius against their parents, he’s all on that _pureblood supremacy_ bullshit and you _know it_. Don’t you think he has some of this coming?”

Remus chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered the perspective. “I don’t think any fifteen-year-old deserves having their parents abuse them—”

“He could have been lying,” shrugged James.

“He might not have been,” Sirius breathed out, sounding defeated.

( _“You’re not the only one who’s had to stitch themselves up at two-am because mother got a bit out of hand!”_ )

The thought that Sirius had left him there, in that godforsaken house with mother’s burning rage, made him swallow thickly. Blimey, what if mother blamed Regulus for it as well? What if Sirius running away meant that Regulus was left with the consequences? What if mother did to him what she would want to do to Sirius?

“Pads, you said so yourself: it was all part of his plan,” said James. “That’s what— that’s what Slytherins do, right? Regulus is trying to manipulate you. He’s pulling the sympathy card.”

Sirius’ stomach stirred with doubt. _Would his little brother really do that? Would he be so insensitive as to lie about being abused?_

“Maybe he’s just being overdramatic,” Remus offered. “Regulus might not necessarily be _lying_ , but he might be playing it up. Maybe your mother does shout at him, hit him— I don’t know. But she can’t have done anything close to what she did to you.”

That— that might be true, actually. It seemed like something Regulus would do. He hated pity but he often thought that if others knew how shitty his experiences were then they’d be almost _impressed_ . Because apparently living through years of domestic abuse was _impressive_.

“So he’s just being an overdramatic little shit?” Sirius questioned.

“Yeah,” James shrugged. “It can’t _really_ be that bad, right?”

( _“You have no clue what it feels like to be alone in that fucking house, Sirius.”_ )

Somehow, Sirius still felt like he didn’t know a single thing about his younger brother.


	6. remember me, love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boggarts aren't much fun in regulus' opinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um... take this mess of a chapter while i try to find motivation to write lmao. im so sorry for being so bad with updating, its just _exhausting_. but i hope you enjoy this anyway. its messy and short and bad but oh well. its something.
> 
> also i completely forgot to mention; i headcanon the blacks as japanese. idk why, i just felt like it worked and i wanted to add a bit more to their identity. i always found it weird how we never got much about their backgrounds.
> 
> ━━━━━━━━━
> 
> if you liked this book of mine, here's another one you might want to check out:  
> [my tears ricochet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932394) 2k, regulus black/james potter
>
>> “You could never just be anyone to me,” James replied, voice soft in the silence of the flat.
>> 
>> “Then kiss me again,” whispered Regulus.

Regulus didn’t get out of bed the next morning.

He didn’t know if it was because he was too emotionally drained to interact with anyone or if it was because he was terrified by the possibility of bumping into his broth—  _ Sirius _ , again. Most likely both.

(  _ “I can’t believe I used to call you my brother!” _ )

“Will I see you at lunch?” Magnus asked once the other dorm members had left to go to morning tea. 

The latino was already dressed in his uniform (albeit his tie a little bit wonky), and Regulus almost gagged at the sight of the thick, winter robes and buttoned up shirt. Getting dressed seemed exhausting. Everything seemed exhausting.

Regulus was laying stomach-down on his four-post bed, one arm dangling off the side and his legs tangled in his duvet. He made a somewhat dismissive noise in the back of his throat, and Magnus rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” the brunette sighed. “I’ll see you whenever you feel good enough to come out, then.”

Regulus hummed again in thanks as Magnus left, before sighing in defeat once the dorm door was shut.

He rolled onto his back, before deciding that he was too tired to do anything more than that. The drapes of his four-post were interesting enough, anyway.  _ Green and silver. _

His mind couldn’t manage to grasp at the reality of yesterday. He’d shouted at his broth—  _ Sirius _ . He’d shouted at  _ Sirius _ . And Sirius had shouted back. It wasn’t like their petty arguments before where they dodged around the elephant in the room— they’d just  _ screamed _ about the bloody elephant.

_ What was I thinking? _ he asked himself with a defeated feeling weighing his chest down.  _ Why did I have to be so impulsive? Why couldn’t I have just bit my tongue? _

_ Because you’re an idiot _ , he supplied helpfully.  _ An idiot who talks to himself, apparently _ .

With another long sigh, Regulus flopped off the bed and stumbled his way to the bathrooms. The nipping cold of the tiles on his feet barely registered in his mind, nor did the oiliness of his hair when he ran a hand through the dark locks. He couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror (to count how many new scars there were), and quickly stripped down.

One of the things he’d learnt about his… it wasn’t PTSD exactly (it  _ was _ ). It wasn’t. But whatever he lived with now… cold water was a trigger of sorts. The first night back in the past, he’d jumped into the shower without waiting for it to turn to boiling hot and ended up shaking in the corner of the bathroom, nails digging into his hair.

Now, he knew to wait for the water to warm up. 

It felt nice. To shower, that was. For some reason, the shower was one of the places where Regulus felt like everything was just put on pause for a moment. It sucked that now the water reminded him of the inferi and horcrux and… everything. But he was slowly getting used to it.

The water felt more like water now, instead of slime and seaweed and Inferi hands.

Once he’d finished washing up, Regulus changed into his robes and used a drying charm on his hair before he froze to death. You’d think that a school of magic would be able to keep the dorms warm, but apparently that was too difficult for the headmaster to do.

_ The Gryffindor common room was probably warm _ , Regulus thought bitterly.  _ Dumbledore probably charmed it himself, that right git. _

Madam Pince didn’t seem to even notice Regulus as he came into the library and tucked himself into his usual corner. Throughout the morning, he buried himself under piles of books of the usual sort; time-travel, dark objects and the psychology of dark wizards. The last one was a bit new, as he’d been lacking in the earlier topics. Regulus thought that even if he didn’t know how to destroy the horcruxes, he should at least try to find out what objects they were. 

The possibility of Voldemort having made more than one didn’t shock Regulus as much as it probably should. Honestly, he was more annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Of course the Dark Lord wouldn’t just split his soul  _ once _ . He always had to go one step further than the last wizard. In this case, maybe three — or even seven — steps further. The number probably had to be significant somehow.

He’d been trying to ignore the fact that he might have duplicated Voldemort’s soul basically twenty-four-seven since he’d theoretically done it. Regulus had absolutely  _ no clue _ as to what he did. Maybe he duplicated it, maybe the soul split off when the horcrux came to the past, maybe Voldemort had already made it in this time.  _ Regulus was fucking clueless _ .

Which is half why he hadn’t completely knocked going to Dumbledore off the shelf of options. Surely the Hogwarts headmaster would know more about it than Regulus did. 

_ But it’s Dumbledore _ , his mind supplied.  _ You can’t trust him to do the right thing for you. Maybe he’s on the right side, but he’d do anything to get what he wants. That includes stealing the information on horcruxes and then just shoving you aside _ .

And people wonder why Regulus has trust issues. Honestly.

He believed Albus Dumbledore’s heart was in the right place, truely. He defeated Grindelwald, of course. He was a  _ light wizard _ , a  _ good _ wizard, but— but he had an agenda. And any man who could sort a quarter of the school into one house and just watch as the succumbed to the values they were stereotyped as… isn’t a perfect man. And definitely couldn’t be trusted by a Slytherin.

After skimming through two books, adding five more to his  _ to read _ list and filling nine pages in his notebook, Regulus was interrupted. 

“Hello, stranger,” Dakota purred as she pulled out the chair beside him.

Regulus hummed his welcome, tilting his quill to signify his acknowledgement of their new presence. The notebook was quickly flipped to one of the fake pages he’d come up with, which had something about the history of time-turners on it. Relevant, but not really helpful. And not suspicious, either.

“I thought we’d be able to find you in here,” said Magnus brightly as he slapped his potions essay on the table. “Slughorn is going to put me in an early grave with all this bloody homework.”

“At least you somewhat understand it,” Dakota huffed.

“You wanna read mine?” Regulus questioned, having already finished the essay yesterday.

The blonde smiled in thanks. “No, it’s alright, Regulus. You know I hate when people copy others’ work.”

“Yeah yeah.”

The trio fell into a comfortable silence, besides the scratch of quills and chatter from other students in the library. It didn’t last long, before Magnus decided he couldn’t stand the quiet.

“I heard from Crawley that Professor Redburn has a boggart for next lesson,” the latino began. “Like a  _ real _ boggart. It’s gonna be pretty interesting, don’t you think?”

Regulus felt a small bubble of panic tickle his throat, before he replied coolly, “Grimmauld Place has plenty of those, unfortunately.”

Magnus sent him a short, inquisitive glance before going back to his essay. “I recon Avery’s will be something stupid like worms.”

“Or grubs,” Regulus prompted with a tiny smirk. He almost forgot he was supposed to be in a bad mood, before smothering the growing grin once more.

He’s going to need all the  _ Felix Felicis _ in the world for next lesson.

━━━━━━━━━

Professor Redburn looked all too happy at the prospect of Regulus’ fifth-year class facing their deepest fears. Her skin looked a few shades pinker than usual, and her brown freckles looked almost like pimples under the shadow of her crimson hat.

She was a tall middle-aged woman, with spindly long fingers and wrinkly skin that hung over her bony body. Regulus hated when she talked, since her bright red lipstick always found itself smeared on her two front teeth. She always wore the same dark red pencil skirt and black, silk blouse. She looked like the likes of a person to be in the same social circles as Walburga Black. In fact, she probably was.

Regulus thought that she looked like the textbook definition of a witch in muggles’ eyes.

“If you’ll all line up,” said Professor Redburn in a low, pleased whine. Her voice sounded like nails scratching across a chalkboard, except deeper. “If you are competent, you would have remembered the incantation I taught you. This should go  _ perfectly _ .”

Professor Redburn’s idea of  _ perfect  _ was probably vastly different to the students’, if her gleeful grin was anything to go by.

The group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws all huddled into a messy line, and Regulus found himself a third-way from the front. Magnus stood somewhere in front of the Black heir, an excited sparkle in his eyes. Regulus didn’t share the sentiment.

The auburn haired girl at the beginning of the room went first. 

Regulus watched warily as the Boggart took the form of a large dragon, and jumped back in surprise as fake fire was blown across the room. The girl stood in frozen fear for a moment, before squeaking out a quick  _ ‘riddikulus’ _ and running to the back of the line.

“Next!” Redburn shouted.

The boggart continued shifting with every next student, and Regulus began to wonder what on Earth would appear when he reached the front of the line.  _ What was his deepest fear? _

Would it turn into an Inferi? Would Regulus have to relive—  _ that _ ? What if it was something else, like his mother? What would people say—  _ oh merlin _ , what if the whole school found out?  _ What is Sirius found out _ ?

Oh merlin, Regulus was  _ doomed _ —

And then suddenly he was at the front of the line, the roller-blading Slughorn of the previous student twisting into a blur of bluey grey before it suddenly stopped.

A door.

_ Regulus’ fear was a  _ **_door_ ** _? _

Something must have gone wrong. The girl behind Regulus giggled, and Regulus was too confused to snap at her disrespect. Why would his Boggart be a door—

“Sirius!”

Regulus felt his heart drop, throat tightening painfully.

“Sirius, this isn’t funny! Open the door!”

The small boy’s voice came from behind the dark wood door. Regulus recognised it as his own.

“Sirius!” The voice became panicked, and Regulus could feel his heart speed up. “S— Sirius, please! Let me out!”

_ Why this? Why this memory? What did it mean? _

“Rissy, open the door! Open the—  _ don’t leave me _ !”

Oh.

“Don’t leave!”

Regulus couldn’t stand another second of it, and raised his wand to mutter the correct incantation. The door twisted into the first funny thing he could think of, and soon Regulus was face to face with his mother in a clown suit. 

The rest of the class laughed, however Regulus only stumbled to the back of the line, knees wobbling like brittle tooth picks. His hands shook, fingers still clenched tightly around his relatively new vine wand, knuckles white. 

(  _ “Don’t leave me!” _ )

At least he’d been somewhat  _ prepared _ to face an Inferi. But  _ that _ ? Since when was— was  _ abandonment _ his fear? He didn’t have abandonment issues… did he? He’d faced the Dark Lord— killed innocents, been beat by his mother, faced Bella’s insanity, was drawn to the bottom of a black lake by Inferi and his boggart was being  _ abandoned _ ?

_ A coward  _ **_and_ ** _ a wimp, it seems _ .

The remainder of the lesson passed by in a dream-like blur. Regulus didn’t even remember if they’d gotten through everyone in the class, but was fleeing the room as soon as the period was over. His winter robes lapped at his ankles, billowing behind him as he speed-walked out of the castle.

Images of that memory flickering in his eyes; ghosts dancing across a moonlit lake.  _ That door _ , he thought.  _ That goddamn door _ .

_ The ebony wood was dark and rich, which Regulus thought suited the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black very much. It towered over the small boy, his fingers pressed against the polished timbre to feel the magic in the house move. The walls felt alive; as if Regulus was standing within the lungs of a giant, rib cage expanding beneath his hands with every breath. _

_ In, out. In… out. _

_ “Sirius, I got the ball. Let me out now,” said Regulus, a red bouncy ball clutched in his palm. _

_ He looked back nervously to the steep staircase behind him which led down to the deep darkness of Grimmauld’s basement. The inky black stared back at him with big eyes, small eyes, invisible eyes. _

_ He wanted to get out of there. _

_ “Sirius, hurry up. I don’t like it in here,” he continued. _

_ But the door remained still, wood moving with every breath of the house. In, out. In… out. Silence. _

_ He clutched onto the ball, knuckles turned white. It squeaked as he gripped it and Regulus almost jumped in freight. Looking back at the steep staircase, Regulus was once again met with big, dark eyes. Small eyes. Invisible eyes. _

_ “Sirius!” _

_ Regulus tugged at the brass door knob, twisting as hard as he could. It didn’t budge, and he almost whimpered. _

_ “Sirius, this isn’t funny! Open the door!” he exclaimed. _

_ Maybe it was just his paranoia, but Regulus  _ **_swore_ ** _ he heard a growl from within the basement. Someone was down there, some _ **_thing_ ** _ was down there. He knew it. It wasn’t just his imagination, he was going to be killed! _

_ “Sirius!” his voice came out panicky. “S— Sirius, please! Let me out!” _

_ He tugged on the door knob, willing it to open. The wooden frame still stood, breathing. In, out. In… out. More silence. His body shook with fear, knees wobbling like a baby deer. There was a loud pounding in his ear, probably his heart. _

_ Buboom, buboom. Bu-buboom, buboom. _

_ “Rissy, open the door! Open the— don’t leave me!” _

_ He wanted to cry — maybe he was already. He couldn’t tell, he was too panicked. His breath sped up, his heart doing so too. He didn’t want to look back at the stairs, knowing what would meet him; big eyes, small eyes, invisible eyes. _

_ “Don’t leave!” _

_ With one last final tug, the door finally fell open. Regulus stumbled through, shutting it as quickly as possible. He was safe, he was through, he was— _

_ “HAHAHA— oh Merlin, you should have heard yourself, I—”  _

_ Sirius was laughing — cackling, really. His head was tipped back, a throaty, childish howl of laughter escaping his mouth. He whacked a hand on his chest, as if he’d lost his breath at how funny it all was. _

_ Funny. It was funny. _

_ The elder sibling wiped a tear from his eye, laughter dying down to a chuckle. “Bloody hell, that was amazing! Sirius, save me!’ — Merlin, I haven’t laughed like that since Hogw—” _

_ Sirius stopped when he finally realised the tears on Regulus’ cheek. The younger brother sniffled, eyes wide and doe-like as he took in the amusement Sirius gained from his fear.  _

_ “Oh shit— I’m,” said Sirius, “I’m really sorry, Reggie. I didn’t realise. Aw, damn.” _

_ Regulus sniffed, red ball still clenched in his hand and skinny knees still wobbling. He looked away as Sirius kneeled down to the younger’s very short height.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Reg. I didn’t know you’d be that scared. Can you forgive me?” said Sirius, eyes apologetic. _

_ The youngest brother shrugged, lips pouty. “Y- you really made me worried, Rissy.” _

_ “I know. I didn’t mean to, Reg.” _

_ Sirius’ eyes brightened. “Hey, y’know what I learnt at school?” _

_ “What?” Regulus mumbled, expression glowing at the mention of Hogwarts. _

_ “Well— I didn’t learn it in a class, really. My friend James taught it to me. It’s called a hug.” _

_ The younger frowned slightly. “Sirius, I know what a hug is. Remember family dinners—” _

_ “No, this is a  _ **_real_ ** _ hug. Trust me,” said Sirius while smiling. “Like this.” _

_ Sirius nudged Regulus’ arms open and then enveloped his younger brother in a large hug, holding on tightly. Regulus yelped in surprise before realising what Sirius was doing and that it was… actually kind of nice. He hesitated before slowly reciprocating the embrace. _

_ Sirius’ arms were thin but they felt warm and comforting when they were wrapped around Regulus. The younger brother didn’t know how these hugs worked, what magic they involved, but they made him feel all safe and happy. _

_ “Promise me, Sirius?” Regulus whispered shyly. “Promise me you won’t leave me behind?” _

_ Big arms tightened around Regulus’ small body, and the younger nuzzled his nose into the inky soft hair by his brother’s neck. _

_ “I promise, little brother.” _

So much for never leaving him behind.

━━━━━━━━━

Regulus didn’t know how or  _ why _ , but rumours of his boggart quickly spread. 

It first started off as Sirius just being a rude brother and locking Regulus in a room, but that’s where the normality stopped. Some rumours were outright  _ gross _ , others hitting a bit too close to home and a few disturbing by even Black family standards.

_ “I heard that the Black’s have a prison cell in their house and lock their kids in there whenever they do something bad.” _

_ “Mary Jane said that Sirius tried to feed his brother to the Basilisk in their basement.” _

_ “I have a better theory; what if there’s an illegal child slavery industry within the pureblood community and they buy kids to use for—” _

Disturbing, to say the least.

Regulus was just glad that nobody had actually asked him if the rumours were true. He didn’t think he’d be very capable of coming up with a good answer on the spot if someone were to ask  _ “is it true that Sirius tried to feed you to a Basilisk?” _ . Seriously, there was a line of likeliness that was crossed ages ago.

“Did you hear the one about the werewolf?” Dakota asked as they sat down at the Slytherin table.

Regulus groaned, head dipping as eyes flickered his way before going away again. He tried preoccupying himself with the blueberry muffin in front of him. 

“No, and I don’t want to,” said Regulus with a mouthful of food.

Magnus chuckled, ruffling the mop of inky black hair atop the shorter boy’s head. “I’m pretty sure that a quarter of the school thinks your brother tried to sell you to the muggle Mafia.”

Regulus glared at the latino, trying to fix his hair again. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Regulus Black not knowing something? The world must be ending,” Dakota sighed with a dull tone.

“It  _ is _ ,” he insisted. “Everything was already shitty with Sirius basically disowning me for a second time and now it’s gotten even  _ worse _ .”

He tugged at the sleeves of his robes, pulling them down past the scars which circled his wrists. They itched, the waxy tissue reminders of the horrors he had faced.  _ And yet his biggest fear was still abandonment _ .

“Hey, our Hogsmade visit is coming up soon. You excited?” asked Magnus, then he snorted. “You probably wanna go check out if the library was restocked, don’t you?”

Regulus hummed, taking another piece of blueberry muffin and popping it into his mouth.

Breakfast passed relatively quickly after their initial conversation. Regulus spent most of the time ignoring the stares and whispers from the other houses, and ignoring the entirety of the Gryffindor house in general. He wouldn’t dare imagine what his brother himself thought about the whole ordeal.

But it turned out Regulus didn’t need to imagine, when he was pushed into an empty room right after leaving the Great Hall. Dakota and Magnus made noises of protest, before Sirius’ friends hushed them quickly.

Regulus didn’t know that the  _ fuck _ was going on, when Sirius grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him against the classroom wall. His breath was forced out of his lungs at the impact, mouth heaving for another inhale of air. Sirius’ eyes were ablaze with a familiar fury and Regulus wondered why this had to keep happening.

“What the  _ hell _ are you playing at?” Sirius snarled.

Regulus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Do you think this is  _ funny _ , huh? I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you should fucking stop. This could have  _ ruined _ me.”

Once again, Regulus didn’t know what the fuck was going on. “What are you—”

“Stop playing dumb, Regulus! The boggart, I’m talking about the boggart!” yelled Sirius. “I’m talking about you tricking it into showing some dumb fucking memory so people can misinterpret it into the worst possible thing. People think I tried to get you bitten by a werewolf! Or left you at an old abandoned house to die! What the fuck!”

_ Oh _ , he thought.  _ The boggart _ .

Wait… what? Trick the boggart? Wait— no, no, no that’s not—

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t try to lie to me, Regulus,” Sirius snarled. His brows narrowed, just as they had done in their argument only a few days before. “I know that memory wouldn’t be your worst fear. You tricked it so people would think the worst of it. It’s just like what you said the other day— you just want people to  _ pity _ you.”

Why did Sirius have to look like mother and father so much when he was angry? The angled eyebrows, the red neck, the fire in his eyes.

“Wh—”

“Just stop trying to ruin my life, goddamn it!”

_ Ouch,  _ Regulus thought as Sirius let go of his shirt.

He was too shocked by the last words to try to correct his brother when he marched out of the classroom and slammed the door. The wall shook behind Regulus’ back, an echo of Sirius’ fiery anger just moments before.

(  _ “This is your fault, everything is always your fault.” _ )

Why did everything always go so badly? Why did nothing ever get resolved? Why did things just keep getting  _ worse _ ?

“Bloody hell, what is  _ up _ with those Gryffindors?” Magnus huffed as he stumbled into the room, glaring back behind him to the fleeing marauders. “Honestly, for all the praise they give themselves… what did he say?”

Regulus inhaled, hands clenching by his sides. “Nothing,” he murmured.

The two other Slytherins looked sympathetic. “Reg—”

“He said nothing, okay?” he said firmly.

Regulus didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilty as Dakota and Magnus shared a look of understanding.

He didn’t know what his plan for being in the past was, but this  _ so  _ wasn’t it.


	7. i had no idea on what ground i was found in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hogsmeade trip goes... not as well as expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im honestly the worst person ever- IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY
> 
> if you liked this book of mine, here's another one you might want to check out:  
>  my tears ricochet 
>
>> “You could never just be anyone to me,” James replied, voice soft in the silence of the flat.
>> 
>> “Then kiss me again,” whispered Regulus. 

It was Hogsmeade weekend, and by that point most of the school had forgotten all about Regulus’ boggart and the absurd rumours that had spun off it. For once, he was thankful for the student body’s short attention span.

Unfortunately for Regulus, despite the rest of Hogwarts forgetting about it, Sirius Black certainly hadn’t. Whenever the pair met eyes across the Great Hall or came across each other in the corridors, Sirius glared with a raging fury that Regulus hadn’t seen so wild in a while. Usually the Gryffindor tried not to let his friends or peers see his _brother issues_ , but apparently now he didn’t give a shit.

But it was _Hogsmeade weekend_ , and that meant _no stress_. At least, it was supposed to mean no stress. Regulus usually found a bit of difficulty in that department.

“You’re so tense, for Merlin’s sake,” said Dakota as she massaged out the kinks between Regulus’ shoulder blades.

The shorter boy frowned, trying to shrug her off while also dodging the puddles of mud in the pathway. “I am _not_.”

“Tell that to the five knots in your back,” the blonde replied with a witty quirk of her brow.

Regulus rolled his eyes, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. He kept his attention to the path, trying to avoid getting his boots covered in mud. Magnus didn’t seem to care as he stepped in a large puddle. Regulus grimaced in disgust.

“Where are we even going? I want to head to the library and that’s the _other way_ ,” he complained.

Magnus huffed. “My legs hurt and I need something to eat.”

“Please not Madam Puddifoot’s,” said Dakota with a snort.

“Or the Three Broomsticks, I don’t want to see my blasted brother.”

“The Phoenix, then?” Magnus suggested, and the other two shrugged in agreement. “I went there a while ago with—”

He stopped when Dakota smirked. “With who?” she asked.

“Nobody,” Magnus lied.

 _Gracie_ , Regulus replied internally, _Grace De Castro._ His friend and the Gryffindor Filipino girl had begun publicly going out in sixth year, but had been secretly dating since around fourth-year. She was a cute girl; thin with dark skin, dull green eyes and thick, black-brown hair. Regulus understood the appeal, he supposed.

“They better have coffee,” Regulus commented as they neared the Phoenix.

It didn’t seem to be overly busy, but decently popular. Regulus eyed the walls of shelved books towards the back of the cafe as they settled into a booth by the window. Out the rain-stained window, students bustled by in their small groups, cloaks and jackets tucked around their cold bodies. Winter was settling in, but at least it wasn’t snowing.

Dakota hummed as she pulled the white scarf from around her neck. “This _is_ cute. Maybe your taste isn’t too bad after all, Flint.”

Magnus sent an offended look to the blonde beside him. “How dare you!”

“I’m just saying,” she smirked, flicking a white strand of hair behind her shoulder.

They ordered shortly after that; Regulus getting a coffee, Magnus getting a chai latte and Dakota getting some fancy herbal tea that Regulus didn’t know of. 

Regulus hummed appreciatively as he took the first sip. He hadn’t had coffee since… since the future? He wasn’t too sure, but it had been a while. Mother didn’t like the drink much, but Kreacher used to keep the coffee beans in stock for father. 

“Have your brothers replied yet, Magnus?” asked Regulus, trying to find something to talk about while they drew warmth from their drinks.

Magnus’ honey coloured eyes lightened at the mention of his family. Regulus had never really understood that, with his toxic parents and distant brother, but he was slightly jealous of it nonetheless. He wished the word _family_ made his eyes sparkle with love, rather than lower in discomfort.

“I got Sebastian’s letter yesterday,” said Magnus cheerily. “He’s begun freelance work, since Gringotts’ curse-breaking work was a bit boring. I don’t know where he is at the moment— he could be in Italy by now. Or maybe it was Gambia. I’m not sure. Apparently Elias has been working as a mediwizard at Nico’s games. Nico hasn’t replied yet, but I guess he’s busy with training.”

“They sound happy,” noted Regulus.

“Yeah. I wish I wasn’t in school, so I could go do cool things like them.”

Dakota snorted. “Are you going to drop out, now?”

“No,” Magnus huffed. “Maybe.”

They settled into silence again, before Regulus got up.

“I’m going to go check out their library.”

The pair of Slytherins nodded, and Regulus turned to search the library. There weren’t many books, but they were mostly ones that he hadn’t seen before. About half of the wall was just cooking books, but there was a small section for Dark magic.

He crouched down to flick through the different books, taking note of the titles. Only a few he had read before, but those he knew to not obtain anything substantially helpful. He was getting ready to stand up again, when something soft brushed his hand.

Regulus flinched, looking down in surprise only to see a small creacher. The cat — or kitten, since is was barely the size of his hand — meowed, nuzzling into his hand again.

 _Erm_ , he thought, _hi kitty?_

He wasn’t the best with animals. In fact, mother and father had never let him or Sirius get a pet. Dogs were way out of the question, cats were too _muggle_ , kneazles were annoying, owls were only to be used for communication, and anything else was just _dishonorable_. 

Walburga Black was under the impression that owning a pet made you uncouth. 

Which was why Regulus didn’t know what on _Earth_ to do when the little kitten began rubbing against his leg. It purred, and the Slytherin found himself biting back a small coo.

The kitten was an ashy chocolate brown, with lighter fur around its face and small white socks on its back paws. 

“Shoo,” said Regulus, glancing around to see if anybody was watching. He then swatted the air, as if brushing the kitten away. “Shoo.”

The brown cat only meowed, and rubbed its cheek into Regulus’ hand.

He huffed, standing up and walking back to the table. _Stupid cute kitten_. He hadn’t noticed it was following him until he had sat down, and it was jumping into his lap.

Dakota laughed. “You went to the library and you came back with a _kitten_?”

Regulus glared lightly at her, trying to push the kitten off. But the animal wouldn’t budge, and decided to curl up on his lap instead.

“It won’t _go away_ ,” he whined.

And all of a sudden there was a loud bang, and the kitten was scattering off Regulus’ lap and away into the back room of the cafe. The trio of Slytherins all jumped, startled by the loud noise.

There was then a scream, and laughing.

Regulus huffed, rolling his eyes. “Probably my idiot brother and his friends, doing another prank—”

_Boom!_

And this time, it wasn’t far away.

Regulus was knocked off his seat as the explosion blew through, sending small shards of glass at him. The whole front window was smashed in, wood splintering and smoke billowing. He winced as glass dug into his skin, kissing the palms of his hands as he pushed himself up.

His ears rang dully, like a loud fly buzzing right next to his ear. He groaned, trying to blink the ash out of his eyes.

“Dakota? Magnus?” he called out, finding it difficult to see the smoky haze.

Out the smashed window he could see flames dancing closer, rows of raised torches. There was shouting, and… chanting.

 _Death Eaters_.

Regulus didn’t remember there ever being a Death Eater attack in his fifth-year, but he didn’t really have much time to think about it before a stray curse went flying past him.

He ducked, the orange jet of light just missing the top of his head. 

“Regulus!” Dakota called, but he couldn’t go looking for her.

“Stay here!” he replied, moving to the door.

When he exited the cafe, the Hogsmeade streets were in chaos. A majority of the buildings were either on fire or filled with smoke from the explosions. In fact, Regulus didn’t think he could see _one_ intact window.

He tightened his grip on the vine wand, knuckles going white. People ran by, students screaming as they attempted to find cover from the Death Eaters.

Normal-him would have been hiding too, but with the experiences he’s endured in the future, he was perfectly capable of protecting the students himself.

“Stupefy!” he yelled at an oncoming Death Eater.

He didn’t recognise them with the mask on, but based on the bad dueling skills they mustn't be very high-ranking. He vaguely wondered if Bellatrix was here.

Dueling felt like slipping into his old self again; the elegant flicks of his wrist and shift of his feet feeling much more familiar than doing school work. His breath was loud in his ears as he swivelled on his heel, a jet of yellow light flying in front of his face.

His footwork was a practiced dance which came to him with ease, as were the smooth waves of his wand and strikes of his hands. He felt confident in every move, and for once didn’t double-think his next spell.

This was where Regulus knew he was _better_ , simply because he had experience from the future. He had challenged aurors and escaped unharmed, had trained with Bellatrix.

His new wand made it all the more easy; as if it had a mind of itself which worked in harmony with his own. Regulus didn’t know how to explain it. It just _made sense_. 

It was after disarming another unfamiliar Death Eater, that he paused.

Fifteen meters away, near the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, was James Potter. His olive skin, black spiky hair and stupid circle-framed glasses were unmistakable. It wasn’t Potter that made him pause, though. Rather, it was who he was dueling.

Regulus hadn’t seen her in a while, but she still managed to ignite a strong foreboding sense of apprehension in him. Her very presence put him on edge.

 _Bellatrix_.

━━━━━━━━━

James was fucked. As in, completely and utterly _fucked_.

He didn’t know where Sirius was, nor Remus, nor Peter. He couldn’t even find Lily, who he’d been with when the first explosion occurred. 

They’d come back to the Three Broomsticks to meet up with the rest of the group, after taking a nice walk. James had even bought sweets for Lily (and had added in a _very good_ pickup line to complement it, of course) and she had seemed to appreciate it. They were waiting inside, having already ordered a couple of butterbeers, when suddenly there was a loud bang.

At first, James had thought it had come from Zonko’s Joke Shop. Maybe something had been set off, maybe some kid got some fireworks. But then came the screaming, and suddenly he realised that it was no Zonko’s product.

James had squeezed Lily’s hand in his, before rushing the door to see what was happening. After that, he hadn’t found her again.

Which wasn’t helpful _at all_ , since he was 99.9% sure that the Death Eater advancing on him was Bellatrix Lestrange.

 _Seriously?_ He thought. _It had to be_ **_her_ ** _?_

Potters had the absolute _worst luck_.

She threw the first curse; a jet of purple flame-like light flying by. James pivoted on his feet, twisting out of the way before returning his own spell.

“Itty bitty Potter!” Bellatrix cried, eyes ablaze with dark fury. Her hair billowed past her elbows like a dark fur coat, strands dancing in front of her eyes and down her cheeks.

James didn’t say anything in response, but continued to return the spells she sent his way.

She huffed at his silence. “You wouldn’t know where my disgraceful cousin is, would you, Potter?”

 _So she wanted Sirius_.

He was prepared to respond with something snarky, when someone else spoke up.

“And which one would you be referring to, Bella?”

James turned to his right, wand still raised at the ready. His eyes blew wide at the sight of Regulus Black.

His eyes were cold and blank, but James could see them calculating the situation before him like an arithmancy equation. The boy’s trenchcoat licked as his ankles, black boots smattered with mud and wand poised at the ready.

James wondered when the fifteen-year-old began looking so _old_.

Bellatrix’s eyebrows furrowed. “Regulus? What are you doing?”

Regulus didn’t answer, and instead aimed a small bombarda at the dirt in front of Bellatrix’ feet. The Death Eater stumbled back, releasing a small yell of surprise. When she looked back up at her cousin, her eyes were flickering dangerously.

“How _dare_ you, boy!”

The first couple of spells had James tumbling back in shock, heart stuttering at the sudden attack. But once he’d overcome his surprise, he could only watch in awe as the hexes danced past each other. Spells of orange and purple and white flew past in harmony, like synchronised choreography. 

Bellatrix stood like a force to be reckoned with, the skirt of her black dress swaying with every heaving breath. Her very being shook with the anger confined beneath her skin, like a beast waiting to be unleashed.

But despite the absolutely _terrifying_ Death Eater who he was opposing, Regulus looked as calm as ever. His eyes were a stony silver; composed and lacking any sort of emotion. The only thing out of place were the loose strands of ebony hair which had escaped the small bun at the top of his head. The fifteen-year-old looked just as terrifying as his cousin, in James’ opinion.

And James didn’t know where the _fuck_ Regulus learnt how to duel like that. His footwork was as quick and elegant as a ballet dancer’s, and the flicks of his wrist seemed way too well-practiced to belong to the scrawny, nerdy, Slytherin baby Black that he knew. 

“Enough, Bella!” Regulus called out, and his deranged cousin paused in her next attack.

Her shoulders shook. “Have you given up, Reggie?”

“No,” said Regulus. His wand lowered slightly. “But you should leave before the aurors arrive. You wouldn’t want today to end badly, would you?”

James couldn’t tell if the boy was genuinely trying to be helpful, or if he was trying to play into Bellatrix’s interest so she would go away. Either way, it seemed to work.

Bellatrix’s eyes flickered from Regulus, to James, and then back again.

Then, without James being able to prepare, Bellatrix was pointing her wand towards him with fire-light eyes. She snarled out a quick _bombarda_ , and James braced for the oncoming explosion.

That was until Regulus was moving forward at an inhumanely fast speed, shoving Bellatrix to the side so that the spell was knocked of course. The dirt exploded somewhere to James’ right, but he couldn’t care with the captivating ordeal occurring before him.

The Death Eater hissed, livid at Regulus’ interference. But Regulus only had to return a cool glare, before she was huffing the hair out of her face and disapparating away. James could hear similar sounds in the distance, as the other Death Eaters disapperated. The aurors must have arrived.

 _What the ever-loving_ **_fuck_ **.

James tried to ignore the new Dark Mark which shimmered eerily amongst the clouds above them. It looked like the sky was ready to begin pouring down with rain, and he hoped it would wait until he was at least inside.

Regulus’ shoulders suddenly slumped, his wand retreating to the side. When he turned back to check on James, the Gryffindor was half-prepared for him to begin attacking him too.

But then he stepped forward, a hand reaching forward. James stared at the pale palm for a moment, before taking it. 

“Erm… thanks,” said James, brushing dirt off his jeans.

The younger boy pulled him to his feet, offering a curt nod. The ebony hair which had escaped his hair tie framed the sharp angles of his cheekbones, standing out starkly against the pale of his skin. “It was no problem.”

“No seriously. You didn’t have to fight your cousin for me.”

Regulus snorted, placing his wand in the pocket of his trenchcoat. For a moment, James thought he looked awfully frail in such a big coat. “Trust me, it wasn’t for you, Potter. Bellatrix needs her ego to be knocked down a few pegs every once and awhile.”

James didn’t know where along the line a Death Eater like Bellatrix Lestrange began being talked about like any other normal person. _Needs her ego to be knocked down a few pegs_? That was the understatement of the bloody century!

Suddenly Regulus’ confidence faltered, as he scratched the nape of his neck. Half of his hair had fallen out of his bun, and James felt the need to braid it like he sometimes did to Sirius (when he let him, at least).

“Erm… this is the part where you yell at me, then?” asked Regulus.

James blinked. “I don’t yell at you!” he yelled.

“Right,” Regulus replied, unconvinced.

“I only yelled at you because you were being a dick to Sirius!”

The Slytherin suddenly turned to him, brows furrowed in irritated offence. “Being a dick to Sirius? Are you kidding me? All I did was ask for his _help_ , but clearly you Gryffindors are above all that—”

“I never said that!”

“Well you damn well implied it,” Regulus huffed.

James didn’t get this kid. Each time he talked to him, the Slytherin acted like a brand new person. One time he’s a dick, the next he’s hysterical, the next he’s a normal kid, then just _emotionless_ , and then defending James against a Death Eater? What the fuck was James supposed to do with that?

“Why did you fight her?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “Bellatrix.”

Regulus couldn’t meet his eye, but sighed. “You’re lucky she didn’t kill you on the spot, you know?”

“And she could have killed you too—”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Regulus interrupted, looking up to James so that gold met silver. “If she killed the Black heir then she’d be ruined.”

The Gryffindor pretended he didn’t notice the obvious diversion from his original question.

“And it wouldn’t be the same with the Potter heir?” James quirked an eyebrow.

“No,” the Slytherin scoffed, as if the idea was absurd. “You’re a blood traitor. Your death would benefit them somewhat. People would know what happens to blood traitors, and wouldn’t want to step out of line. Fear breeds compliance, yadda, yadda.”

_The audacity of this kid!_

“It’s hard to sympathise with you when you go around calling people blood traitors, you know,” said James in offence.

“I didn’t mean it like—” Regulus paused, sighing. “That’s what _they_ think of you, Potter.”

Okay, now James was confused. “And you don’t?”

Regulus shrugged. “Not anymore.”

James didn’t know where along the line Regulus went from _‘ew, Potter, you blood traitor scum’_ to _‘no, I don’t agree with my parents views’_. The contrast was quite jarring. That, as well as the recent attempts Regulus had been making to talk to Sirius.

_But then there was that boggart thing…_

James knew Regulus hadn’t tricked the boggart, and he was 99.9% sure that Sirius knew too. He could feel the regret radiating from Padfoot’s food-post bed the night after he’d gone accusing Regulus. They both knew that Regulus couldn’t trick a boggart — that only extremely talented occlumens could — and that it therefore meant that the fear was true. That Regulus had feared _that memory_ of all things.

Sirius wouldn’t explain what it meant, and so James didn’t ask.

There was a sudden shout, and the pair looked down the street to see a group of aurors making their way past the shops. Professors were amongst them, and seemed to be checking on the few students who weren’t hiding inside.

Regulus’ shoulders relaxed, and James could see the tension fading from his expression.

“You’re welcome, anyway,” said Regulus.

The Slytherin made a move to walk away, but James grabbed his wrist to hold him back. It happened rather quickly for the Gryffindor to understand, but suddenly Regulus was hissing in pain and looking down to his wrist.

An awful sense of horror rose in the back of James’ throat as he too looked down to where his hand enveloped Regulus’ wrist. Absentmindedly, he noted that his whole hand fit around the boy’s arm, with room still to spare. But that wasn’t the worst thing.

Instead, his eyes were focused on the red lines which circled the boy’s wrist and danced up the bones of his hand like veins. There were white lines too, where the scars had already healed into pale waxy streaks. And there were _so many_ , that James found himself internally gagging.

“Wha—” James started, looking up from the boy’s hand to his thin face.

Dots were connecting in his brain so fast that it was difficult to keep up with his own thoughts. There were _scars_ on his _hands_ . Regulus had _scars_ . Regulus had _old scars_ , and _new scars_ . He had _scars_.

Were they from his parents? Did that mean he wasn’t lying? Was he really being abused at home like Sirius was? Is that why he told Sirius he couldn’t go back to Grimmauld Place? Because he was going to go back to abuse?

Regulus couldn’t meet his eyes, and instead yanked his hand away to stuff it into his pocket. “Forget it, Potter.”

“No, you don’t,” said James, “have to say anything. Trust me, you don’t have to explain.”

James had learnt from Sirius that pushing just _wasn’t_ the answer when it came to that type of thing. It was like cornering a small kitten, and the only way that something was going to happen was if Regulus initiated it himself.

( But this was a _Slytherin_. This was Sirius’ slimy git of a brother. What was he doing? )

Regulus swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the pale of his neck.

“Just… shit, I’m not good at this. Sirius always tells me I’m shit at being responsible,” said James, running a hand across his face. “Erm, just— fuck, I should tell Sirius.”

“ _No_ ,” Regulus said sternly, posture suddenly defensive. “You can’t tell him— you _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

“Because he wouldn’t understand—”

“Black, you and I both know that he’d understand _plenty_ —”

“No, he wouldn’t get it,” Regulus insisted. “He wouldn’t— he wouldn’t know _why_.”

 _I don’t know why either_ , James thought.

“And he’d think it’s his fault,” he continued. “You _can’t tell him_.”

“But—”

“ _Promise me_.”

James didn’t like promises, since they usually ended with someone breaking them, but Regulus looked so hopeless. His shoulders slumped.

“Fine, I won’t tell Sirius. But I—” James paused. “I have an idea.”

Regulus looked apprehensive. “What’s your idea?”

The Gryffindor fiddled around for a bit until he was dragging a bronze ring from around his index finger and placing it in his palm. The metal was smooth and shiny, and there looked to be small engravings on the inside of the loop.

The younger boy blinked, his gaze going from the ring, to James, to the ring, and then back to James. “It’s a… ring.”

“Yes,” James smiled. “But not just any ring.”

“You’re… giving me a _ring_?” Regulus said slowly, as if talking to a child.

“ _Yes_ ,” said James. “I first gave it to Sirius back when he was… y’know… still at Grimmauld Place. But after we took him in, he didn’t have much of a need for it.”

“Stop rambling, Potter. Why are you offering me a ring?”

“It’s not _just a ring_ ,” James repeated, twirling the ring between his fingers. “I had it charmed a while ago so that it can transport the wearer to a disclosed location when they say the _special words_.”

Regulus raised a brow. “And?”

James rolled his eyes. “And…” he dragged out, shoving the ring into Regulus’ palm, “if you ever need to escape Grimmauld Place, just say _James Potter is the absolute best_ and you’ll be transported to a place near Potter manor. I had wards set up so I’ll know if you ever end up there. Then… I’ll come get you.”

“And then what?” asked Regulus.

“Then you can stay at our place until school goes back,” James smiled.

Regulus blinked. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Nope! But the _James Potter is the absolute best_ was. Just say _golden snitch_ three times and it’ll work like a charm. No pun intended.”

“Why?”

“Wh—” James stopped, suddenly going serious. “I can’t have another Black going through what Sirius did. I’d rather prevent you stumbling onto my front porch, half bled out.”

Regulus looked down to the ring, twisting it between his fingers with a conflicted look on his face. “I… probably won’t need it, but erm… thanks, anyway.” It sounded like it was extremely difficult for him to say that. He looked up. “Just please don’t tell Sirius.”

James pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets. “As long as you promise to use the ring if anything happens. Deal?”

He outstretched his hand suddenly, and tried to ignore the implications of Regulus’ flinch. The Slytherin shook it. 

“Deal.”

James didn’t know what on Earth he was doing making promises with slimy Slytherin gits, but it didn’t seem all too bad to him when Regulus slipped the ring onto his finger with the tiniest of smiles.

━━━━━━━━━

“Where have you been?” Magnus exclaimed when Regulus came rushing through the crowd, the younger boy invisible due to his shortness.

He huffed, fiddling with the new ring around his finger. The bronze felt oddly warm against his skin, and Regulus wasn’t sure if it was due to his body heat or the magic from the charm radiating off of it.

“Potter was— oh, never mind,” he rushed out, the energy leaving his body as his shoulders slumped.

Dakota was clinging onto Magnus’ arm, shivering from the cold. “You just ran off, we didn’t know if the Death Eaters had—”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

( _“You can’t tell him. Promise me.”_ )

It was at that moment that Regulus noticed what Magnus was holding. He gaped, looking from the tiny ball of fur to his friend’s face, then back to the kitten again.

“You _stole_ it?” he exclaimed.

“No!” Magnus denied, having the decency to look at least a little bit sheepish. “She followed us once the aurors came, and she doesn’t have any claimant charms on her, I checked. So… I kind of just took her with us?”

“Oh Merlin, you stole a cat,” Regulus groaned, running a hand down his face.

Never in his fifteen (eighteen?) years has he ever had to deal with something this bizarre and mundane. Usually it was dark magic and horcruxes he was dealing with, not kittens and… catnappers?

“I think she may have some special abilities, because she kept doing—”

Dakota was interrupted when the kitten suddenly disappeared into thin air, before reappearing in Regulus’ arms. The boy fumbled, trying not to drop the poor thing.

“— that,” the blonde finished.

“It can apparate?” Regulus questioned. “You stole an _apparating kitten_?”

“I didn’t steal it!”

Suddenly there was a large hand patting down on Regulus’ shoulder, and he flinched from the contact. When he turned around slightly, he saw Professor Slughorn staring back in concern. He looked on edge, in Regulus’ opinion, but he supposed everyone was.

“Ah, are you all alright?” the man inquired.

“Cold,” Dakota replied simply, still shivering.

The man chuckled lightly. “Yes, well, we’re going up to the school now. The Headmaster is asking for an assembly in the Great Hall.”

“Will he be talking about the attack?”

“I assume so,” Slughorn hummed. 

The man then looked skyward, and the trio followed his gaze. Hanging above them was the Dark Mark, shimmering an awful killing curse green. Regulus felt his heart drop like a stone in water, his stomach churning in a way that made him sick.

He’d never performed that curse before, had never put the Dark Mark in the sky himself, but he’d definitely seen it plenty of times before.

“A dreadful thing that is…” Slughorn murmured, seeming jittery at the sight of the Dark Lord’s symbol. “To think some are marked with it… just dreadful.”

“Yeah,” said Regulus, looking back up to the Mark. “Dreadful.”

“Where were you?” he heard being exclaimed somewhere off to his right.

The Slytherin turned to see his brother with his hands on Potter’s shoulders, looking all too concerned. For a moment, Potter’s eyes met Regulus’, before they both looked away again.

James sighed, tearing his eyes away from Sirius’ brother. His friend’s hands remained on his shoulders, like a mother checking their child for injuries.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, pads. Got caught up with your cousin, before—”

Sirius stared at him, waiting for him to finish when James paused mid sentence.

“— before your brother came.”

Padfoot’s eyes went wide, before horror dawned on his face. “He didn’t— he didn’t fight you with my cousin, did he?”

“No!” James assured. “The opposite actually— he defended me against her.”

Sirius froze, hand fidgeting at his sides. “Like… actually?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… weird.”

James wanted to tell him about the ring and about his and Regulus’ deal, but the topic changed before he could blurt out the secret.

“You ready to go?” Remus asked, bumping into Sirius’ side.

Padfoot smiled, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

James sent one last quick look to Regulus, who seemed to be talking to Professor Slughorn, before following his friends.


End file.
